Mind Over Matter
by Durhelediel
Summary: There is something amiss on Voyager which directly affects Seven of Nine and then Tom Paris. What is it, and can it be stopped before the crew starts dying one by one--starting with Seven and Tom? FINISHED!!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: All the characters of Star Trek: Voyager belong to those who make money off of them…which is certainly not me. I just borrow them for a little playtime every once in a while. 

Dedication: Thanks Gene Rodenberry for your ideas and insights to spur our imaginations ever onward, to go where no man has gone before.

            The faint hum of the ship during the induced night cycle created a lull that helped some to sleep.  Those who did not sleep remained at their duties, while others were in a state of regeneration.

            Or were supposed to be.

            Seven of Nine, ex-Borg, stood completely still, briefly pondering what could possibly have disrupted her regeneration cycle.  Her eyes scanned the cargo bay where her regeneration chamber had been set up.  Her ears pricked and, although no sound came from within her chamber, she heard a billion voices, calling to her again.

            _"We are the Borg.  You will be assimilated.  Resistance is futile."_

Stiffening, Seven moved into action quickly.  Lengthening her strides, she strode into the corridors of the Starship _Voyager_ and rapidly arrived at Captain Kathryn Janeway's quarters.

            Touching the door's side panel, a soft chime issued forth and there were several seconds in delay as it penetrated Captain Janeway's sleep.  A groggy, "Enter", followed soon and Seven stepped forward to obey.         

            Janeway seemed surprised to see her.

            "Seven?  Is something wrong?" The captain of _Voyager_ inquired as she finished straightening her jacket on her uniform.  The woman hand thrown on appropriate attire, not knowing who it could be or what kind of emergency at this late hour.

            Seven of Nine tried to think of a way to say her unpleasant news without upsetting Janeway much.  In the end, she reflected, speed is of importance and however she said it, it would upset the captain.

            "I have been contacted by the Borg," Seven said bluntly, careful to observed the sudden tension in Janeway's shoulders.

            "What did they say?" Janeway asked, nonchalantly, while her mind raced.  She ran fingers through her hair hurriedly.

            Seven suppressed a sigh.  "That they are the Borg and resistance is futile."

            Janeway motioned for Seven to join her on her way to the bridge.  "Is that all?" She said as they approached the turbolift.  Two crewmembers in gold uniforms saw the captain and graciously let them take the lift in their place.

            "The bridge," Janeway snapped.  Every second counted now.  "Why was I not alerted sooner?" She felt disappointed in Chakotay.  Usually, he came to her himself as soon as trouble even suspected it would brew—which it usually did.

            Seven cleared her throat.  "No one told me, Captain.  I heard them."

            Janeway lifted an eyebrow.  "Is your transmitter activated again?"

            "Not that I am aware of, Captain," Seven replied.  "I will have the Doctor check into it in a few minutes."

            The lift stopped and the doors slid open.  Janeway expected to see her crew too busy to contact her with this new threat, at least to see some activity due a Federation Starship.  Instead, she and Seven were greeted by the second shift's jokes and idleness.  Younger officers shared units with others, playing at each other's professions.

            A Bajorian named Gradly noticed Seven and Janeway.  Loudly, to cover the background noise, he said, "Captain on the bridge!"

            Seven thought what happened next could be termed as 'humorous' by human standards.  Junior officers scrambled to their posts and sat or stood rigidly still while Janeway stepped onto the upper level of her bridge.  Her keen eyes penetrated the scene quickly and she refrained from commenting on the lapse in discipline.  

            "Where is Commander Chakotay?" Janeway asked Gradly.

            Standing at strict attention, Gradly answered, "In your ready room, ma'am.  He told us to see him if anything arose." His wrinkled nose twitched.

            "Thank you," Janeway said.  She turned her attention to Seven.  "Seven, scan the quadrant for the Borg and contact me in my ready room.  Also, wake up prime crew and get them up here.  Dismiss night crew once prime crew is gathered.  I'll be in my ready room." The captain swiveled on her heel and stalked to her ready room door as Seven bent over her station and got to work.

            Irritated and amused at the same time, Janeway touched the chime to her door.  A masculine voice immediately responded for her to enter.

            _At least he's awake_, Janeway thought as she stepped inside.

            "Captain!" Chakotay's brow wrinkled, obscuring his tattoo as he did so.  He stood from behind her desk, putting down a datapad.  "Is something wrong?  You're supposed to be resting from your time trapped on that deserted planet."

            Janeway kept the smile from her face.  "I'm fine, Chakotay.  Seven woke me with disturbing news: the Borg have contacted her."

            Chakotay's eyes widened in shock.  "When?"

            Janeway motioned for him to join her back on the bridge.  "Only a few moments ago…"

            "Captain, the prime crew has arrived," Seven's voice interrupted.

            Janeway lifted her head toward Seven's voice.  "I'll be right there, Seven.  Commander?" Getting a nod from Chakotay, they arrived on the bridge together.  Janeway crossed directly to Seven's station, ignoring the puzzled looks the newly awoken crew were sending them.

            "Have you found anything?" Janeway asked, peering over Seven's shoulder as she continued to work.

            Seven's voice was preoccupied.  "Not yet, Captain.  I am now conduction a further sensor scan.  There is nothing immediately near our viscidity."

            "Captain," Tom Paris' lean form moved to her vision.  The blonde-haired, blue-eyed man leaned casually on the rail.  "What's going on?"

            Janeway glanced around to find the same, unspoken question on everyone else's faces.  "Seven has been contacted by the Borg," she revealed bluntly.

            The usual amount of tension filled the room that normally did with the threat of the Borg.

            As usual, Paris found his voice first.  "Where are they?"

            Janeway glanced at Seven, who had straightened herself from the panel.  "If they were here, they are no longer.  There is no activity near us."

            B'Elanna Torres crossed her arms.  "What do you mean, 'They're no longer here'?  Where are they?"

            Seven turned a dispassionate gaze to Torres.  "They are no longer a threat.  They are gone," she repeated patiently.

            "Gone?" Harry Kim echoed.  He looked as if he were just now waking up; his brain sluggish.  "As in, departed?  Just like that?"

            Chakotay could not understand, either.  "Why contact you and then leave?  What is their purpose?" 

            Seven's blue eyes glinted with memories no one wanted to share.  "The Borg prided themselves on causing fear and terror.  Apparently, they have found new tactics to do so."

            "Using you to help them?" Tuvok finally interjected with his calm logic. "That is not logical."

            "I did not know I was assisting them at the time," Seven mildly defended herself, keeping her hands behind her back.  "If that is the case."

            Janeway frowned.  "This doesn't seem like the Borg's usual behavior," she mused.

            "Yes, it is unusual," Tuvok agreed.  Nods could be seen around the bridge. "One must question their motives.  Is it possible Seven's transmitter malfunctioned?"

            "I was planning on reporting to sickbay in a few moments," Seven replied.  Janeway thought she could detect a faint level of an edge to the response.  Seven was indeed nearing more sides of her humanity.

            Chakotay must have detected it, too.  "If there is not other threat," the XO suggested, "then why don't you go ahead?  The captain and I will be there shortly."

            Seven nodded and, dropping her hands, strode into the turbolift.  It whooshed down, leaving the bridge in silence.

            Paris' eyes snapped as he confronted Tuvok.  Evidently, he had heard the anger in Seven's voice as well.  "Good grief, Tuvok!  Why don't you make her feel bad?"

            Tuvok calmly regarded the younger officer. "I merely asked a question, Mr. Paris."

            Janeway cleared her throat. "Gentlemen," she said loudly.  Once she had their full attention, she added, "I have no doubt Seven is telling the truth.  I'm sorry your sleep was disturbed.  If you wish to go back to your quarters, I'll get night crew back up here."

            B'Elanna sighed. "It's only two hours until our shift.  I'm going to stay on."

            Tom nodded, as did Tuvok and Harry.  Chakotay was the only one who hesitated.

            "I'll return after a short nap, if that's all right, Captain," Chakotay inquired.

            Janeway smiled. "I was about to suggest that, Chakotay.  I'll never be able to go back to sleep now.  Would you join me in sickbay first?"

            Chakotay grinned back.  "Glad to."

            The holographic doctor scanned Seven's transmitter with his medical tricoder.  He frowned at the readings briefly before Seven caught his eye.

            "What is it, Doctor?" Seven inquired, a feeling humans called 'unease' flitting through her.

            The Doctor kept the crown on his face as he placed the tricoder on the medical bed. "Seven," he began, his tone troubled, "I think I've found something.  Will you please lay on the biobed?"

            Seven met his gaze. "Certainly, Doctor." Obediently, trusting his judgment, she lay still as the biobed surrounded her.

            The Doctor was in the midst of checking her organs for what he had found in Seven's brain when Captain Janeway and Chakotay came in.  Seven noticed Janeway seem to flinch slightly at the unexpected sight.

            "Doctor," Janeway immediately said as she hastened to them, "What seems to be the trouble?"

            Hesitantly, the Doctor let the biobed settle back down and helped Seven sit up.  Finally, when three pairs of eyes were demanding an answer, the Doctor supplied the disturbing information.

            "There is a small cluster of cells located near Seven's transmitter.  I believe that these cells inadvertedly triggered stimuli in Seven's brain which caused her to have a memory surge.  The only thing she likely remembers is the one thing she, when she was Borg, repeated over and over again.  There was never any danger to us," the Doctor finished.      

            Chakotay seemed unsure if that was truly all the Doctor had to say.  The hologram kept glancing at Seven as if he were afraid she would disappear.  "What do you mean exactly by 'there was never any danger to us'?  Is there danger or not?"

            Janeway nodded, agreeing with Chakotay's question.  Their minds were on the same track, as usual.

            Seven tilted her head to regard the Doctor better.  She trusted him implicitly and knew he would tell her in his own way.

            The Doctor shifted, uncomfortable.  "Seven might be in great danger.  Apparently, when her…personalities…took over her mind, some of their physical, or mental rather, attributes also became a part of her.  One of them had a strange disease that there is no translation for in English; the closest word would be 'terminal cancer'.  It has no cure that are in the medical logs.  In six months time, Seven will die."

            Neelix whistled happily to himself as he dropped a type of root that the crew of _Voyager_ picked up two days ago on a class-M planetoid into the stew he was preparing for the crew.  It was the only stew he had made recently for the _Voyager_ crew that they had seemed to come back more for.  The tangy root turned sweet and sour when added to the stew, giving it a pleasant taste.

            He was busy stirring the concoction when he noticed Seven of Nine enter, walking slower than her usual long-legged stride.  Her face was pale and her eyes contained a glazed expression.  Alarmed, Neelix made sure that the stew would be find unattended and hurriedly crossed the room to her side.  She sank, straight-backed, into a table's chair and said nothing.

            Neelix took in her countenance and spoke to the replicator near Seven.  "Chocolate cake."  Almost at once, a moist piece of chocolate cake and a fork appeared.  He joined Seven and pushed the cake in front of her.  Her eyes never lost their far away gaze.  He didn't think she knew where she was.

            Gently, wary of startling the strong ex-Borg, Neelix ventured, "Seven?  Are you all right?"

            The blue eyes abruptly focused on him.  "I was…thinking," she said, her voice holding a barely imperceptible tremor.

            "Would you like to talk about it?" Neelix asked softly.  He wondered if Seven had noticed the cake yet.

            She glanced down and saw the dark brown mass on her plate.  It reminded her of the cluster of cells the Doctor had shown her near her Borg transmitter. "It is a personal matter.  One I do not wish to discuss," her tone was as equally soft as Neelix's but firm.

            Neelix took it in stride.  He could find out later. "If you need to talk, just come see me," the Talaxian trader remarked, standing up.

            Seven wrestled with a silent need for a second.  She picked up the fork and stabbed off a piece of cake as she quietly asked, "What is the human form of 'terminal cancer'?"

            Neelix was only a step away when her question hit him.  He turned, fighting to keep his face calm, and sat back down. Nonchalantly, he inquired, "Terminal cancer, hm?"

            Seven swallowed the lone bite, then pushed the cake away.  The sweetness was not a comfort at the moment. "Yes.  The Doctor believes he found a cluster of cells in my brain born from one of the peoples I helped assimilate.  The human translation would roughly be 'terminal cancer', yet the Doctor did not elaborate much."

            Neelix's mind was numb. "If I remember correctly from the medical files on illnesses of Earth dating back to the 1920s, terminal cancer was a ravaging, quick-growing disease which had no cure.  Humans had medicines to alleviate the pain but nothing was found to stop it, until 2035.  Did the Doctor happen to say how long of a timespan you…are…uh…given?" He scratched the side of his face self-consciously.

            Seven's answer nearly caused him to fall out of his chair.  "Six months." He was not able to ask anything more for Naomi Wildman entered.  The little girl with long, dark blonde hair skipped over to them, clutching her Flutter doll.

            "Hi, Neelix," she greeted her godfather.  She straightened as she noticed his companion.  Her voice was slightly more serious as she added, "Hello, Seven."

            Seven liked the child for strange reasons.  Perhaps she reminded Seven of her own lost childhood.  Once, Neelix had asked her if she missed her parents.  She had responded that she had adapted and so could Naomi with the loss of her mother.  Now, she wasn't so sure if she had adapted quite as well as she had thought.

            "Good morning, Miss Wildman," Seven replied.  She faced Neelix as they stood. "I thank you for your time, Neelix.  I have some calculations to complete in astronautics.  Good day." She turned and left, the cake still sitting on the table.

            Naomi tugged on Neelix's sleeve.  When she had her godfather's undecided attention, she asked, "Is Seven all right, Neelix?  She seemed sad."

            Always amazed at Naomi's insight, Neelix struggled for an answer.  Finally, he settled on one that was more truth than lie.

            "I don't know, Naomi.  I really don't know."


	2. Chapter 2

Three days had passed without incident after Seven's supposed contact with the Borg.  By then, almost everyone on board knew what really was wrong.  Some were scared to go near Seven, while others regarded her fearfully, pitying her.

            Tom Paris, B'Elanna Torres, and Harry Kim were in the shuttlebay, doing maintenance on the _Delta Flyer_.  They and Tuvok were scheduled to go down on the planet beneath them on another food scavenge.  No one had answered their hails so they were to proceed with the utmost caution while they explored.  After they returned to _Voyager_, Tuvok was going to try a mindmeld on Seven to try to discover which of her personalities had left it's little "gift".  Maybe then they could do something to help Seven.

            "Tom!  Try it again!" B'Elanna's voice made its way to where he was wedged under the main drive.  Wires snaked across his body, uncovered.  If he made one wrong move…Or if something went wrong…

            "Sure," he grunted.  He pressed his hand up into the _Flyer's_ workings and focused on the line that, he hoped, would supply extra speed into the thrusters.  Ignoring the sweat that ran into his eyes from the three to four hours he had been crouched in the tiny space, he enjoyed an ironic thrill that ran through him.  He loved to spend a whole week's wroth of holodeck rations in one day working on a twentieth century automobile to show to B'Elanna.  At first, she didn't appreciate his work but now she knew what hard work it really was.  Working on the _Flyer_, his brainchild, was almost as much fun.            

            He forced his wandering mind to the task.  Twisting his wrist, he tightened and clamped the errant wire into place.  Removing his hand, careful to avoid touching the exposed copper wires, he tapped his commbadge attached to the gray tank top shirt he had donned for this part of the mission. "Go ahead and try it, Harry.  Just make sure B'Elanna is still ready."

            "Hold for just a second, Tom.  Tell us if anything happens on that end of the line," his friend answered, static interfering.

            Tom eyed the wires so close to his face. "I hope nothing happens.  I'll be a roasted duck." Even so, he began to untangle himself from all the wires.

            A sudden whine began to develop near his hearing.  He peered in at the wire he had connected in to all the others.  Smoke drifted out of one end and he realized that he still hadn't plugged it in all the way.

            "Harry," he called into the commbadge, "power the _Flyer_ down!  Quick!"

            All he got in reply was static.  He doubted if Harry had heard him.  Meanwhile, sparks were beginning to shoot in all directions, creating a further problem of a possible explosion if a spark hit a certain wire.

            Just in case Harry could hear him, he yelled, "Power down!"

            Still no reply.

            Gritting his teeth, he swore.  He would have to fix the wire himself, while the _Flyer_ was powered up, maneuvering between now live and uncovered wires, without frying himself.

            Right.  Captain Proton had it easier.

            Cautiously, he extended his right hand and began the intricate dance with the wires.  He made it unscathed to the problem wire and swallowed.  There was no way he was going to correct the problem without hurting himself and if he didn't do something, the other wires could malfunction with the touch of a spark, or worse.

            Holding his breath, he reached out toward the wire.

            The sound was faint and only B'Elanna heard it.  Snapping around, she located Harry in the co-pilot's seat, twirling a gage.

            "Harry!  Power down the _Flyer_!" She barked.  Extracting herself from the weapon's console, she raced out of the _Delta Flyer_ with Harry at her heels.  She reached where Tom had been working but found him lying with his eyes closed, his right arm badly burned and the skin a mass of sores resting on his chest.  The wires exposed near him provided the story.

            "Tom!" She shouted.  "Harry, grab an arm!" Together, B'Elanna and Harry pulled Tom out of the mess he had been so eager to fix.

            Once he was a safe distance away, Tom's blue eyes snapped open.  He moved his right hand to grab the floor to push himself up, and muttered another expletitive as the pain washed over him.

            Harry's dark face was full of concern.  "Tom, what happened?  Are you all right?"

            Tom allowed B'Elanna to help him to his shaky legs. "I told you to turn off the _Flyer_.  The connection was weak and in danger of being critical when I decided you couldn't hear me and I fixed it myself," pain made his voice wheeze and he gritted his teeth.

            Harry and B'Elanna glanced at each other.

            "We didn't hear you," they chorused.

            B'Elanna added, "It must have been the copper wires or the alloy blocking the comm." She rolled her eyes.  "You _had_ to have this done today.  I told you it was too risky.  But no, the Great Tom Paris, Pilot Extraordinaire, is never wrong.  How does the flame of victory feel now?"

            Tom groaned with agony.  He almost wished his hand would have been burned beyond the nerves.  At least then he wouldn't have to feel it.  "Charbroiled. I'm going to walk to sickbay alone."

            Harry began to protest as B'Elanna's shock left her momentarily speechless.

            "You can't be serious," she finally managed.

            Tom shot her a withering look as he stumbled to the door. "I'm walking to sickbay, with or without your permission.  Someone needs to stay here to clean up and I'll only be back in time to fly this thing.  The wire is in now, all you have to do is finish the connection in the weapons' and pilots' consoles and put it back together.  I'll be with the Doc if you need me."

            B'Elanna's brow furrowed in thought.  She came to an instant decision. "Harry, go ahead and get started.  Tom's not going alone, I don't care what he says.  I'll be back shortly," and with those orders, she followed Tom into the corridor.

            Naomi hummed to herself as she wound her way to the cargo bay where Seven of Nine's regeneration chamber lay.  No matter how hard Neelix tried to pretend nothing was wrong with Seven, she had seen the crew whispering together for the past few days, shooting Seven concerned glances.

            Something was WRONG.

            Naomi decided to investigate.  Perhaps if she asked Seven, the ex-Borg might tell her.  Usually, the woman was composed and secretive, yet Naomi had glimpsed a side of Seven when she had been taken over by her 'personalities' that Naomi could understand.  Neelix had also explained about Seven's past.  Naomi pitied her.  No childhood!  No parents!  How awful!

            Rounding the corner, she reached her destination swiftly.  The door slid open at her approach and the dim lights caused her to pause.  After her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she carefully began to walk toward the alcoves that were positioned against the wall, expecting Seven to be standing there in her version of sleep.

            Instead, Naomi was shocked to find no trace of Seven.

            "Seven?" The little girl asked.

            No response came—which was very un-Seven-like.

            "Computer, locate Seven of Nine," Naomi demanded, feeling panicked.

            "Seven of Nine is in Cargo Bay Five," the cool voice answered.

            Naomi almost stomped her foot in frustration.  Feeding speed to her small feet, Naomi began running around, looking everywhere she could think of.  Finally, Naomi sank to the step of Seven's platform for her alcoves.  Where could she be?

            She let her gaze roam the shadowed room.  It seemed cavernous and empty without Seven or someone else there.  Her eyes followed the alcoves, then to the semi-circled console that was a combination of a miniature astromatrics lab and main console for the maintenance of the alcoves.  Loose blonde hair peeked out from one of the rounded places of the broken circle.

            "Seven!" She squeaked, surprised.

            In a flash, she was kneeling beside the unmoving woman.  The blue of Seven's one piece uniform was speckled with blood from a deep gash on her forehead.  From Naomi's point of view, it seemed that Seven had fallen and hit her head while working on something.  Naomi needed to get medical help, fast.  She headed for the door as fast as her short legs would allow, almost rushing headlong into Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres.

            Her mind worked furiously.  Didn't Tom have medical training?  She remembered him listening attentively to the Doctor whenever someone was brought into sickbay.

            "Mr. Paris!  I need your help!" Naomi begged.  Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his left hand and pulled him into the cargo bay, Torres following.  She led him to where Seven was sprawled, her hair askew, the blood puddle growing in size.

            Tom's haze of pain went to the back of his mind as he quickly assessed the situation.  He forced his right hand to maneuver as he checked Seven's pulse.

            Naomi gasped as Tom's mangled right hand came into her view.  She hadn't noticed it before in her haste to gather help for her friend.  Tom shot her an amused look tinged with pain as he ripped the sleeve of his jacket above his injured hand off.  Pressing it to Seven's head, he tried to ease Naomi's fear for him by joking.

            "Hey, it's not as bad as it looks.  It doesn't even hurt," he lied.  Even as he said it, he knew Naomi didn't believe him.  He then tried to keep the girl busy.  "Why don't you keep this pressed on Seven's head after I pick her up?  We'll take her to sickbay."

            Naomi nodded, her eyes wide.

            Torres, however, was having none of it.

            "I'll carry Seven to sickbay," B'Elanna argued.  "You can't hold your arm up, not to mention carry someone as heavy as you.  I'll carry her."

            Naomi glanced up at the glaring adults and tentively offered a suggestion. "Why don't we just teleport Seven to sickbay?  That way no one has to carry her just in case her neck is hurt."

            Tom smiled.  "Excellent idea, Naomi." He tapped his commbadge. "Paris to sickbay."

            "Yes, Mr. Paris?" Came the Doctor's reply.

            Tom bent over Seven again and removed the makeshift bandage to check on the bleeding. "Seven's been injured and we dare not move her.  Prepare for emergency beaming."

            Torres cut in, "And make it two.  Tom is injured as well."

            Naomi giggled at the murderous glare Tom shot his girlfriend.  Grownups could be so cranky sometimes.

            "Whenever you are ready, Mr. Paris."

            Tom sighed and took Naomi's place beside Seven.  His arms and hands were covered with his and Seven's blood.  He must look a fright.

            "Energize," he sighed.

            When the forms of Paris and Seven materialized, the Doctor didn't know which one looked worse.  He paused, split, trying to decide who needed the more immediate medical attention.  Fortunately, Paris, on the second biobed, solved his dilemma for him.

            "See to Seven first, Doc.  I can wait."

            The Doctor hurried to the unconscious woman.  He scanned the head injury, then the rest of her body form head to toe.  His holographic fingers flew over numerous consoles as he investigated the seriousness and cause of the injury.  Once satisfied that the wound could be mended, the Doctor ran his sealer over her skin to block the flow of blood.  When he finished, he gathered a wet cloth and cleaned up Seven's face, smoothing her long hair to cascade around her shoulders.

            A grunt from his other patient spurred him into faster action.  Satisfied that Seven was stable and clean, the Doc turned his undivided attention to Tom Paris.  As he began to clean up the burned pusses of skin, he attempted to cheer the young man up.

            "What were you doing, experimenting with the panels in your quarters again?" Doc asked, a light tone to his voice.

            Tom grunted. "No, trying to play real-life Captain Proton."

            The Doctor risked a quick glance at Paris but saw he was uncharacteristically serious. "Did you succeed?"

            "We're not space dust so I guess so," was the reply, thick with pain.

            The Doctor came to an immediate decision. "I think it will be better for you and me if I gave you something to block the pain." He braced himself for an argument but, to his utter amazement none came.

            "As long as I can be fit for duty in three hours," Tom warned, slinging his feet onto the biobed to get comfortable. "I don't trust anyone else to pilot the _Flyer_, save the captain herself and even then the trust is strained."

            The Doctor frowned. "I won't make any promises, Mr. Paris, but I will discuss it with the captain."

            Tom nodded, wincing.

            The Doc gathered the appropriate hypospray and touched it to Paris' neck.  A slight decompression of air could be heard and Paris almost immediately relaxed on the biobed.

            A feeling of helplessness washed over him and the Doc frowned slightly. "Sleep well, Mr. Paris." Gathering other supplies on a cart near him, the Doctor set to work on Paris' hand.

            Chakotay couldn't sleep.  The news about Seven of Nine was still too disturbing for him to settle peaceably in his mind.  He needed to talk to someone.  His thoughts swung to his spirit guide.

            Pressing the metal of the stimulator of the Akoona to his forehead, he easily entered the land of his spirit guide.

            She was waiting for him on the green hill, her tail twitching in agitation.

            Chakotay frowned.  Something was wrong.

            _Run with me_, his spirit guide demanded.

            Shrugging, Chakotay obliged her and they ran over the green, lush plains swiftly.  The blue sky darkened gradually and dark clouds threatened.  Chakotay stopped, panting.

            _What's going on?_ He wondered.

            His spirit guide raced back to him.

            _There is danger on _Voyager,_ Chakotay,_ she informed him.  She shook her fur.  _It will spread and kill quickly.  Return to where it began to stop it.  You will have no choice._

_            But why?  What is it?_  Chakotay yelled through the sound of the rising storm in his mind.

            His spirit guide trained yellow-gold eyes on him and no amplification was needed to hear her words.

            _Something which you have no defense against.  A type of plague that has no regard for species or gender.  Something that even the Borg left alone.  It will consume you.  And the crew._


	3. Chapter 3

Janeway had merely wanted to see the Doctor for ease of her headache but once she arrived, her eyes were greeted by a surprising scene.  Ensign Tom Paris, the most 'invincible' man she had ever had the—displeasure?—of knowing, lay unconscious on a biobed.  His right hand, from wrist to halfway up his arm, was wrapped in bandages.

            B'Elanna Torres swirled around at the sound of her approach.  The half-human, half-Klingon woman nudged Harry Kim and he turned from a careful watch over his friend.

            "Captain," they chorused.

            Harry's smile seemed strained as he looked at B'Elanna. "We've got to stop doing that."

            "What's going on?" Janeway asked.  Ruefully she thought, _That is going to be my most memorable line if I keep saying it._

            The Doctor sighed. "Perhaps B'Elanna or Harry could explain.  All I am clear on is that Tom and Seven were beamed here, both injured, from Seven's regeneration chamber.  Seven's head wound was minor yet bled profusely.  She is in astromatrics, researching the soon-to-depart away team's mission.  She wouldn't explain to me.

            "I had to treat Mr. Sleeping Beauty over there for third degree burns on his right arm.  He begged of me to wake him before the away team left.  He still wants to pilot the _Delta Flyer_ himself.  I informed him I would ask you.  Since the time is nearing for the away team to disembark, I was about to contact you."

            Janeway frowned.  She would have to assess the entire situation before she decided anything. "B'Elanna, Harry, you three were supposed to be making adjustments to the _Flyer_.  Care to expound upon what happened?"  

            Torres furrowed her brow. "All I know is that Tom had an idea to add propulsion to the thrusters for faster speed and greater maneuverability.  He was near the outside panels hidden in the underside of the _Flyer_, attaching and rerouting wires, when I heard him, form the inside, yell something.  When Harry and I arrived, he was tangled in live wires, his hand burned, and unconscious.  We dragged him from the area.  He woke shortly after and insisted he walk to sickbay.  I followed him while Harry began to clean up our mess.  We ran into Naomi Wildman on our way and discovered Seven of Nine laying prone on the floor with on the floor with a gash on her forehead.  Tom and Seven were transported to sickbay and I went back to the shuttle bay to help Harry finish up an hour ago.  When we finished completely, we came here."

            "Did you accomplish what you set to do?" Janeway inquired, directing the question to Harry.

            Harry's dark face suddenly crinkled in a grin. "Yes, we did.  Tom said he thought we might and I tested it in simulations.  He'll be happy to know we have fifteen percent more maneuverability and twenty percent more speed.  I look forward to telling him once he wakes up."

            "Speaking of…" The Doctor interrupted, walking by them.  He grabbed a hypospray that resembled all the others and placed it to the side of Tom's neck.  The familiar hiss sounded, followed by Tom's eyelids blinking rapidly.  With a final jerk, his blue eyes snapped open and surveyed the room.  They landed on Janeway, and he sat up at once.        

            "Captain," he began.

            Janeway's mouth quirked into a smile.  The one time that Paris was going to be respectful is the time he doesn't have to be. "Rest, Tom.  I want the truth.  Can you fly?"

            Tom examined his gauze-wrapped hand and flexed it experimentally.  He proceeded to move his fingers over an imaginary panel, testing out the limits of his tendons.  He flashed her his infamous grin and replied, "Aye, Captain."

            Janeway still wanted to hear Tom's side of the story so she could put all angles in to her log. "First, care to tell me what happened?"

            Tom's face flushed and he didn't meet her eye as he began.  Once he was done, he risked a look, a defiant gleam in his blue eyes, as he waited for a reprimand.

            Which would not come.

            "Thank you, Tom.  I appreciate your quick thinking and personal sacrifice to save the crew.  I'll get a full debriefing of your mission when you return.  I believe Tuvok is waiting for you, Harry, and B'Elanna at the shuttle bay.  Good day," she said, ignoring the three startled faces that followed her out of the room.  It helped to promote trust and loyalty in the captain if she occasionally did something completely opposite what her crew expected of her.  It kept them on their toes, which is where she needed them to be.

            "All systems are nominal.  Whenever you wish to go, Mr. Paris," Tuvok instructed from his seat behind the weapons console in the _Flyer_.

            Tom slid the _Flyer_ out of the shuttle bay carefully.  His right hand twitched in slight pain, reminding him to keep all movements slow.  Acknowledging his body's warning, Tom oriented the _Flyer_ toward the orange-red planet below.  From space, it didn't look like much but, according to scanners, it was abundant in many types of edible food.  Tom hoped what ever was down there was more tasteful than what Neelix had scrimmaged for the last time they had had to make a food stop.  He had felt sick for a week.

            "Let's get what we need and leave without any trouble," B'Elanna spoke up as they made their descent into the planet's atmosphere.  Tom could almost hear his name on the end of her statement.  Was it his imagination, or did he feel three pairs of eyes trained on the back of his head?

            He laughed. "Come on, guys.  There's nobody down here to hurt anyone so there's no way I can get in trouble."

            Tuvok's dry tone floated up to him as they entered the last section of the atmosphere and saw a few wispy clouds. "Not logically.  Just because our scanners could not detect life does not mean that there is none."

            "Do I hear humor in your voice, Tuvok?" Tom inquired as he struggled to see past the murky clouds that reflected the red-orange light.  Irritating the calm Vulcan was on e of his favorite pastimes.

            "No, Mr. Paris, you do not.  This is a serious matter," the Vulcan responded.

            Harry gingerly climbed to sit next to Tom, cutting off his other reply.  The darker man squinted to see. "How do you know where you are going?"

            Flippantly, trying not to let his tension show, Tom answered, "I don't."

            Harry swallowed and paled. "Oh."

            "I suggest you go back to your seat.  I estimate we're near the surface.  It might be a bumpy landing," Tom warned.  As if on cue, the brownish surface of the planet reached out of the dense mists as if to pluck the _Flyer_ out of the sky.

            Tom muttered under his breath as he fought to control the _Flyer_.  Amazingly, Tom managed to settle the shuttle onto the ground with only a slight jerk.  Shakily, he reached out to power down the _Flyer_, but instead left it so only the slightest touch would snap all systems to functioning and ready to burn out of there, if needed.

            "At least the improvements are working," he grumbled.  Without the added maneuverability, he doubted that he could have landed as gracefully as he did.

            "I commend you on your engineering genius," Tuvok grunted as he pried himself out from behind the weapons console.  Harry and B'Elanna had not been able to completely clear up the weapons console and Tuvok had to maneuver around a few loose wires.

            Tom couldn't figure out if Tuvok was being sarcastic or serious.  He decided to let it go unanswered as he rechecked his tricoder.

            Harry paired with B'Elanna and so Tom was left with Tuvok.  They split up in two different directions, agreeing to meet back at the _Delta Flyer_ in four hours.

"Seven, I have disturbing news," the Doctor began without preamble as Seven of Nine joined him at a console in sickbay.  He pointed to a screen where the familiar pattern of her brain was represented.  The Doctor's finger speared a mass of black that covered half of her brain. "That is your cancer."

            Seven dropped her hands in surprise. "But it has only been three days.  This rate of growth is too rapid to be logical."

            The Doctor's fingers dug up another imprint of her body.  A separate black mass was growing in her right arm. "But this astounds me.  I have no idea where it came from.  Usually a cancer will show signs before it just appears.  This I found after your rescue by Mr. Paris.

            "And I have a theory about what happened as well."

            Seven lifted an eyebrow. "All I remember is a sharp pain in my head.  When I next became aware, you were bandaging Lieutenant Paris' right hand."

            The Doctor grew animated. "Allow me to fill in the gaps for you.  The cancer is beginning to create pressure inside your skull.  I believe the building pressure causes you to have blackouts.  You had your first one in your regeneration chamber and hit your head.  These blackouts will become more common," his face was grave and concerned. "I would like for someone to be near you always.  These attacks are unpredictable and unstable." He hesitated.  He wanted to suggest himself for reasons beyond him being her doctor.

            Seven gazed coolly at him. "I will alert you whenever I feel one of these…attacks, Doctor.  Is that all?  I was investigating the class-M planetoid that the away team is currently on."   

            The Doctor suppressed an unhappy sigh.  He really should have known that that was what Seven would say.  It was the best that he could hope for, after all. "Yes, Seven.  That was all.  I will inform you of any changes."

            Seven gave a brief nod, then began to waltz out of the room.  Midway there, however, she gasped and pressed a hand to her forehead.  She began to slither to the floor in a heap.

            Alarmed, the Doctor rushed to her and caught her in his arms. "Seven?  Seven, can you hear me?  Seven!" He demanded anxiously.

            Slowly, the ex-Borg's eyes fluttered open.  She focused on him through a cloud of murkiness. "Doctor?" Her voice was faint. "What happened?"

            His face was inches from hers as he replied, "You cried out and fell.  You must have had another blackout.  Are you feeling all right?"

            Seven's head was cradled in his hands and he supported her weight with his arms.  To his surprise, holding Seven felt natural, as if she belonged there.

            "I…I'm not sure," Seven admitted, shakily.  Her blue eyes searched his own. "Doctor?  Is this another lesson?"

            "Yes…" He barely breathed.  He felt compelled to kiss her.  Bringing his mouth to hers, he found her lips were warm and plush.  The kiss ended and they both stared at the other.

            The silence stretched and he finally helped her to her feet. "That was a lesson in human erratic rescue methods," he rambled. "Some humans find the erratic approach the most satisfying.  Now, about someone staying near you…"

            Tom Paris scanned a dead-seeming tree. "Either the scanners are wrong or everything here is a reddish-brown color," he commented.  Hooking the tricoder to his side, he reached up and began to pluck the brown fruits off of the tree, placing them in a sack attached to his other side.

            Tuvok continued to scan the surrounding area, watching their backs against any unforeseen dangers. "I believe it more likely to be the latter.  My scans show abundant nutrients."

            Tom stretched to reach a bigger, redder fruit just beyond normal reach, standing on the toes of his feet.  Tuvok eyed the precarious positioning which is counterpart had himself in yet said nothing.  He did not want to provoke the man or cause him to lose his fragile balance.

            "Well," Tom grunted as he lowered himself back onto solid ground, holding the prize fruit.  He stared at it. "This should be worth some…" He broke off with a strangled noise.

            "Mr. Paris?" Tuvok inquired.  He watched as the younger man dropped to the ground, the fruit forgotten, and lay unmoving.  Calmly, although he felt panic begin to tug at his mind, he tapped his commbadge as he knelt beside the fallen man.

            "Tuvok to Torres and Kim."

            B'Elanna's gruff voice was there at once, a reassuring thing. "What is it, Tuvok?"

            "I suggest that you and Mr. Kim locate our coordinates and come as quickly as you can," he instructed.  Swiftly, he probed Tom for any broken bones.  Finding none, he watched as the facial muscles in Paris' face performed a series of contrasting and relaxing motions that one could safely assume was not normal.

            "We'll be right there," Torres replied, her breaths coming in puffs, as if she were already running.

            Tuvok kept vigil over Paris until Torres and Kim came bursting out of the trees.  Torres' eyes narrowed in concern as she noticed Paris on the ground. "What happened?"

            Kim frowned. "He's not having a good day, is he?" The young man commented.

            Tuvok gave him a hard look to keep inappropriate comments to himself before answering Torres. "I am not entirely certain.  He just fell over.  It is not logical.  There is nothing here that is affecting his physiological being."

            Torres joined Tuvok at Paris' side. "Tom?" She asked, her concern evident in her voice although she tried to hide it. "Tom?" Experimentally, she poked him.  At the touch, his eyes flew open.  He took in the gathered group and his position on the ground before allowing Tuvok to help him stand up.

            "I feel awful," Tom said without preamble. "What happened?" He rubbed his temples, groaning.

            B'Elanna and Harry exchanged a worried glance.  B'Elanna crossed her arms. "That's what we want to know.  We were hoping you could tell us."

            "Sorry.  I can't help you there.  I…" he suddenly winced as an intense pain shot across his brain.  Faintly, he heard three voices calling his name.  For the moment, though, he concentrated on something else.  It sounded like the Doctor's voice, calling Seven of Nine's name.  For a brief moment, sickbay swam before his eyes and the concerned face of the doctor.

            _"…Mr. Paris…"_

_            "…Seven…"_

_            "…Tom…"_

_            "…Seven…"_

Confused on who he was, he forgot where to go in his mind.  Panicking, he stayed in-between both sickbay and the surface of the planet, fighting against a wave of indecision.

            Dimly he heard, "…request emergency transportation to sickbay.  Lock onto Mr. Paris' commbadge now…"

            And even dimmer, "..help me get her onto the biobed.  She's fighting me…"

            _Fight the Borg_, the thought raced through his mind.  He saw a memory of his parents being taken away and him being dragged to the assimilation chamber.  Scared, he lashed out, feeling satisfied when one of his captors grunted in pain.

            "…hold him down…"

            "Captain, we have an emergency situation…"

            "…are mentally shutting down…"

            A frightened plea screamed at him, "Help me!"  It sounded like Seven.

            Then he felt it.  Like an ooze covering his mouth and nose.  He remembered when he fell in the recycle pit at the prison.  He had almost drowned.  Now he was doing it again.

            "…both are not breathing…"

            "…Tom!  Can you hear…"

            "…Seven!  Concentrate on…"

            "…need three ccs of…"

            "…inject him now!"

            Something touched his neck and his flurry of thoughts dimmed to nothing.

            Janeway rushed around sickbay.  Something was definitely wrong but, for the moment at least, she did not have the time to research what.

            The Doctor shouted at an ensign, who was being kicked by Tom Paris' buckling form, "I want you to hold him down now!" He noticed Janeway. "Captain, we have an emergency situation here.  I want sickbay quarantined."

            Nodding, Janeway spoke the commands and codes to the Computer and watched briefly as the doors locked and sealed.

            Seven, in the other biobed, screamed, an almost animal sound of pure terror.  Only seconds later, Tom echoed her scream with one of his own.

            Meanwhile, the Doctor was trying to take care of two patients at once.  Three ensigns, him, and herself were the only ones that were aware of their surroundings in the room.

            One ensign, Jacobson, Janeway remembered, read off a medical console. "Doctor!" The woman barked in surprise. "Both of them are mentally shutting down!"

            Suddenly, Seven cried out, "Help me!"  Tom almost seemed to look at Seven and he repeated, "Help me!"

            _Go to work_, Janeway instructed herself.  She raced over to help the lone ensign, Peters, that was trying to hold Tom down long enough to get the biobed to enfold around him like Seven had been.  She launched all her body weight near Tom's head and Peters slapped the mechanism that would close the protective shield around Tom.

            Jacobson droned, "Doctor.  Both are slowing…now they're both not breathing."

            Janeway released her hold and saw that what the ensign had said was true. "Tom!  Can you hear me?  Tom?  Breathe!"

            Across the short distance, she heard the Doctor yelling, "Seven!  Concentrate on the sound of my voice!  Breathe, Seven!" When that did not seem to accomplish much and alarms began warbling from both biobeds, he pointed to a hypospray. "Get me that hypospray!  I need the three ccs of monocloride to enforce the urge the breathe."

            Another ensign, Meyei, ran to the hypospray, snatched it from the neatly laid out cart, and passed it to the Doctor.  He injected Seven and she took in a great gasp, Tom copying a second later, though no hypospray had been used on him.  Laboring for each breath, the two jerked under the enfolding wings of the biobeds.  Janeway, having studied some medicine herself, frantically looked around.  Finally, she saw the desire hypospray. "Peters, get that hypospray and inject him now!"

            Hurrying, Peters obeyed.  He touched the cold, tiny nozzle against the side of Tom's neck and the hiss ensued.  Gradually, Tom quieted down, still fighting to breath, but at least unconscious enough to not fight his helpers anymore.

            "Captain…" the stunned voice of the Doctor intruded upon her observations.

            She shifted her attention to Seven, laying quietly a few feet away, as if she, too, had been injected.  Like Tom had when the Doctor had forced Seven to breathe…

            "You bought us some time, Captain, but I fear this is a mystery I can't begin to understand," the Doctor said sadly.

            A beep came from her commbadge.  Chakotay's voice demanded, "Captain!  What's going on?  Why is sickbay in quarantine?"

            Suddenly remembering that she had left Chakotay in her ready room when the Doctor had frantically contacted her, she smiled slightly. "I'll inform you when I know myself.  It's just safer this way, for now.  Is the away team back?"

            "Yes, with the exception of Tom, who I've been told is in sickbay," Chakotay replied.

            "Find out what you can about what Tom was doing before his episode and what he did during it.  Something strange is going on," she murmured, half to herself.

            "Chakotay out."

            She locked gazes with the Doctor, who was bent over Seven's monitor.  Peters, Jacobson, and Meyei were gathered around Tom's bed, gazing at him silently.  Pushing aside her puzzlement, she joined the Doctor.

            He began to talk as soon as he noticed her. "The rate of growth with this cancer is astounding, Captain.  It has multiplied three times its size in the past ten minutes.  If it continues to grow like this, Seven will be lucky to have a month left to live, not six." 

            "I can understand Seven's behavior," Janeway mused. "But not Tom's."

            The Doctor sighed. "Neither do I.  If you will come with me…?" He asked, as he walked briskly to where Tom lay.  The three ensigns scattered as he approached.

            _I guess Tom's reputation as a pilot is highly esteemed_, Janeway allowed the thought to pass through her mind.  She leaned over the Doctor's shoulder as he examined Tom's body and brain.  She gasped.

            "How is that possible?" She blurted, not believing what she was seeing.

            The Doctor swallowed. "I'm not sure.  I'm going to run the scanners again to eliminate errors." After a few minutes, the same thing stared them in the face. "This is not good."

            "But how did the cancer spread from Seven to Tom?  IF it was a communicable disease, it could have been spread through the air, or saliva, or blood.  Cancer is not a communicable disease!" Janeway chewed on her bottom lip while her eyes absorbed the information in front of her.  Two separate black masses of cancer that were the same size as Seven's were imbedded in Tom's body.  Something else about the cancer nagged at her.  Not in the cancer itself, but in its position…

            "Doctor," Janeway said suddenly, her eyes bright. "Show me Seven's and Tom's diagrams side by side.  I have a theory about this."

            Silently, the Doctor complied.  His eyes grew wide as he saw the same thing that Janeway had. "The cancer is in the exact same positions in both Seven and Tom," he breathed. "But how?  Why?"

            Janeway cleared her throat. "What if this cancer is somehow communicable?  You had said, when Seven was first diagnosed, that what was in Seven was similar to the humans' terminal cancer.  Perhaps this can be spread just like a twentieth-century cold.  Which could mean…"

            "…everyone on _Voyager_ has been exposed," the Doctor finished.

            "But not you.  You're a hologram.  Which makes it easier to run full scans on everyone on board," Janeway thought out loud.

            The Doctor reached up to a separate panel and adjusted something. "After the air in here is cleared, I will block off this section of sickbay.  Then, I'll start the scannings.  If I get to work immediately, I might have results in four to five hours."

            Janeway nodded. "Do it."

            The Doctor looked at her. "You will be first, Captain.  If you'll come this way, please?"


	4. Chapter 4

Four hours and thirty-seven minutes later, all functioning senior crew officers were gathered in the briefing room.  The three vacant seats that belonged to Seven of Nine, Tom Paris, and the Doctor were plainly being avoided.

            Janeway, frustrated, paced behind her chair. "Seven and Tom are deathly ill by a communicable cancer, echoing each other's actions and, apparently, each other's feelings.  Yet no one else on board has any sings of this cancer.  Anyone have any ideas?  Suggestions?"

            All of her officers were busy in thought.  Harry looked exhausted, as if he had not slept in a week, even though she had told him to sleep after his debriefing.  Hesitantly, he said in a scratchy voice, "Maybe if we examined each method of transfer and ruled them out one by one?"

            Janeway nodded and plopped down in her chair at the head of the table.  She steepled her fingers together. "Good point.  Air is a negative or we'd all have it by now.  _Some _sign would show.  Anyone else?"

            Chakotay glanced at Torres, not sure if he should bring up his point.  Janeway caught the look and pinned him down with a stare of her own until he cracked. "We can rule saliva out.  I seriously doubt if Seven and Tom are…together secretly and B'Elanna hasn't shown any signs of the cancer."

            Torres glowered but refrained from speaking.

            "Not blood, either," Neelix piped up. "Right?"

            Tuvok frowned. "Not necessarily.  If their blood mingled from a cut that bled then the possibility is likely."

            Torres sat up abruptly. "That's it!" She exclaimed. "When Seven hit her head, she was bleeding.  Tom had burned his hand, exposing blood and the bottom layers of his skin.  He used his burned hand to clean some blood from her forehead.  When he was taken to sickbay, Seven's blood covered his arms.  _That's_ a plausible explanation."

            Janeway felt refreshed. "That is indeed.  It explains a great deal and lends more knowledge and understanding to this strange cancer.

            "Join me in sickbay."

            The Doctor had stabilized Seven, while also accidentally stabilizing Tom.  He had come to discover that they were like twins—what he did to one, happened to the other.

            Sighing, he bent over the information gathered from the two's brains, not liking what he saw.  He was beginning to understand how the cancer worked and the picture it left was a nasty one.      

            The sound of the door sliding open startled him.  Although the quarantine had been lifted, most crew members were studiously avoiding sickbay.  He discovered his visitors included all of the attendees of a senior officers meeting.

            "What can I do for you, Captain?" He inquired, as the group approached him.

            The Captain's eyes sparkled with life. "We've figured out how the cancer is spread—by blood.  Tom's and Seven's blood mixed when he rescued her.  Which explains the positioning of the cancer.  Seven's began in her brain, so Tom has a mass in his brain.  Tom's right hand was especially vulnerable when burned, plus it was the entry point for the cancer, therefore he began to grow a mass in his right arm.  Somehow Seven copied it."

            The Doctor felt sad.  He knew his expression echoed his feelings when he received undivided attention from everyone standing near him. "I believe I have solved the mystery of why Seven and Tom echo each other." He paused, still not wanting to speak the words. "The cancer has blended their thoughts, in essence, their very minds, together.  They may have two bodies but their minds are as one.  Whatever effects one, effects the other.  If one dies, so, in theory, will the other.  We must find a cure and fast.  The cancer is growing too swiftly."

            Silence greeted his revelation.

            Finally, B'Elanna shook herself. "Well, let's get on with it then.  The sooner we start, the sooner we'll find something."

            Janeway faced Tuvok. "Do you think you could risk a mindmeld without harming yourself?"

            Tuvok regarded her calmly. "I can try, Captain.  Where everything goes from there, only in the future will I be able to say."

            "Do it but I want the Doctor near to watch your brain activity," the Captain swiveled to face the Doctor. "And if his brain begins to match Tom and Seven's, take him out of it."

            "Captain," Chakotay interrupted. "I would like to stay here with the Doctor and Tuvok."

            Sensing that Chakotay needed something to be absolved of in his mind, she agreed.  The Doctor observed the almost mental exchange between the captain and Chakotay with interest.  He had another theory about the closeness of friends and telekinesis.

            The group was beginning to disperse, leaving only the Doctor, Tuvok, Chakotay, and the two people on the biobeds who breathed in unison.

            _Tom blinked.  Where was he?  It was dark here.  Where was the light?_

_            Fumbling in the dark, he eventually found the light panel.  He flipped it to activate and let his eyes adjust to the scene in front of him._

_            He shivered, remembering.  His feet carried him toward the far door at the end of the corridor.  He knew what would happen, what they would say, what he would do.  He didn't want to do this.  He didn't want to go._

_            Somehow, his feet kept walking._

_            Seven of Nine walked closer to the door, curious.  This felt like a memory, yet she had no memories of this nature._

_            Reaching the end with shuffling steps, she noticed a guardian on either side of her as she was led into the room.  Quaking with nervousness, she allowed the solemn faced men to lead her to the semi-circle of gathered admirals._

_            "Thomas Eugene Paris, you know the charges laid against you and that the evidence weighs against you with your testimony.  How will you plead?" The burliest admiral spoke without preamble._

_            Seven was confused.  Thomas Eugene Paris?  But she was not Tom Paris, she was Annika, Seven of Nine, former drone, ex-Borg.  How could she be inside Tom Paris' head and memory?_

_            Even while she thought, she found herself replying, "Guilty on all charges." Her voice was a younger, graver Tom Paris' with no hint of the source of humor he was constantly showing on board _Voyager.

            _"Do you have anything to say before you are sent to the penal colony?" Another admiral asked.  His eyes seemed haunted, tired._

I'm sorry, Dad.

            _Dad?  Was this Tom's father?_

_            Again, she/Tom spoke, "I'm truly sorry for the lie and the grief that I have caused my friends' families."_

_            "Anything else?" The first admiral inquired._

_            She shook her head, remaining silent.  Knowing that if she expressed her true emotions, she would embarrass herself by crying._

_            The first admiral made a motion with his hand and Seven felt the guards twist her around.  She craned her neck to watch her father but he would not meet her eyes._

What have I done?

            I'm sorry, Dad.

            _Seven felt a lone tear slick down her cheek._

_            Suddenly, her vision blurred._

When her vision cleared again, Tom Paris was sitting on the floor of some sort of room that had no walls, his face in his hands, crying.  Seven shook free the lingering memory and approached him, feeling ridiculously like crying herself.   

            Lightly, she touched his shoulder.  After a moment of no response, she sat next to him, silent.

            When he had control over his emotions, he spoke in a detached voice, "My father was so disappointed in me for what I had done he couldn't speak to me.  Couldn't and wouldn't.  I wonder how he feels now that I'm gone?"

            Seven paused before answering.  She could _feel_ what Tom was feeling and _knew _what Tom knew.  Forming her words carefully, she answered him with only, "I'm sure now he realizes how much he loves you and would gladly welcome you back."

            Tom didn't answer for several minutes.

            "What happened, Seven?  Where are we?  The last thing I remember is a jumbled mess.  I wake up and just we two are here, wherever _here _is," he asked, turning eyes just as blue as hers to face her.

            Unable to meet his probing stare, she took careful note of her surroundings. "It seems familiar to me…" She stopped.  No.  It could not be.

            "What?  What 'could not' be?" Tom demanded, even though she had not spoken those last thoughts out loud. "Seven, tell me!"

            "We…are in…my mind.  The place where I was forced to go to when those that I had assimilated overcame my conscious self.  How we got here I can not explain," she shakily answered.

            Tom paled. "Can we go back?"

            Seven gazed at him for a little while. "Not without help, if I remember correctly."

            "And who would that be?" Tom's voice was faint.

            "Tuvok, most likely."

            "Great," Tom grumbled. "We get to converse with pure logic to get out of here.  It can't get worse than this."

            Almost to disprove his words, a clamor began.  Seven and Tom straightened quickly.  A crowd of fuzzy, out-of-focus people and aliens surrounded them before they even knew what was happening.

            "I feel a case of deja-vú," Seven said uneasily.

            Tuvok stood beside Seven of Nine.  He had had to decide which of the two to try the mindmeld on.  The Doctor had suggested Seven since she had convulsed so rapidly first.

            Before he could place his fingertips in the needed pattern on Seven's forehead, the Doctor yelped from where he was monitoring Seven and Tom's brain waves.

            Chakotay hurried to him. "What is it?"

            "Seven's brain waves are becoming erratic…Now Tom's are following as well.  Something's wrong here," the Doctor bit off as he checked and rechecked his information. "You might not want to try the mindmeld."

            Chakotay studied the console himself for a moment.  Finally looking up, he told Tuvok, "It's up to you, Tuvok."

            Tuvok nodded. "I will try," he said gravelly.  He lightly brushed his fingertips against Seven's temple…

            …and found himself in a mass din of noise and confusion.  Pushing back feelings of _I have done this before_, he listened intently to a masculine cry of despair.  A feminine voice shouted something but only a hoarse scream answered.

            As Tuvok watched, the crowd merged and liquefied into a hungry black mass.  It towered above a terrified, huddled Tom Paris, who, even as he kept his eyes riveted to the ensign, flickered like a failing hologram.  When he flickered, Seven's form could briefly be seen.  The black mass crested like a wave and began to topple toward Tom.  The younger man emitted another hoarse scream that sounded like him and Seven together.

            Seven, opposite Tom, charged at Tom, flickering like he, only opposite.  She gave a long cry of challenge and tackled the mass.  She splashed through it and came out of the other side, dazed.

            "Seven!" Tuvok tried to gain her attention.

            She picked herself up and only noticed him when he planted himself in front of her. "Seven," he repeated.

            Her eyes stared at him, not seeing him; not aware.

            He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from running off into the mass again. "Seven!"

            Still she could not see him.  Abruptly, he realized he would have to talk to both her and Tom at once to get them to hear him.  He needed someone to help him round up the two crew members.

            A roar drew his attention.  He swiveled around to see Tom collapse, whether under mental strain or terror, he did not know.  Under his hands he felt Seven buckle as well.  The creature withdrew, sedated, and promptly disappeared.

            Tuvok gently laid Seven down, suppressing a wince when her form changed to Tom's and back again.  He needed help.

            Blinking, he retreated in his mind from the jumbled mess he had discovered.  Chakotay was the first person he focused on. "Commander, I need to enlist your assistance," he said.

            Chakotay was caught off-guard. "Sure.  What do you need?"

            Tuvok allowed a small sigh to escape his calm exterior. "I need for you to help me talk to Seven and Tom Paris."

            "Enter," Janeway's commanding tone came promptly from her ready room.  Chakotay obeyed at once.

            Janeway glanced up from her screen as she saw Chakotay glide in. "Commander, do you have a request?" She lifted an eyebrow. "Or a withdrawal?"

            Chakotay shook his head in the negative. "I've made up my mind, Kathryn.  I'm going to help Tuvok.  Maybe then we can put more pieces of this bizarre puzzle together.  I just came to ask if _you_ had anymore questions about what Tuvok described.  When we adjourned, I could see more questions in your eyes.  I've got a few minutes."

            Janeway sighed and stood up. "Tuvok does not lie so what he says he saw, he saw.  But what no one asked was, 'What is it?  Where did it come from?  Is it the cancer?  Has the cancer mutated?  Or is it a cancer at all?'"

            Chakotay nodded.  He'd been thinking the same things.  He sensed that Janeway needed to talk it out so he feigned ignorance and asked, "What are you saying?  That it is sentient?  That it might not be a 'cancer' but a form of parasite?"

            Janeway smiled. "As usual, you and I think alike…" She was interrupted by her commbadge.

            "Captain."

            "Go ahead, Doctor," she acknowledged.

            "If Chakotay is going to do this, I would like to do it now.  Even as we speak, Seven and Tom's brain waves and other bodily functions are becoming meshed.  I can hardly tell the difference their brains anymore.  Time is of the essence," the Doctor rambled, worry evident in his voice.

            "I'll be right there, Doctor," Chakotay responded.  He exchanged a glance with Janeway.

            She sighed again. "I'm researching all of our databanks.  I'll contact you if and when I find anything.  Good luck."

            "And to you, Kathryn," Chakotay said as he walked out of the door.

            Complete darkness.  Then a brilliant white that was constant and unwavering.  Somehow, Chakotay knew to go towards it, just as he knew, but could not see, that Tuvok was beside him.  Not speaking, he edged closer to the white.  Upon closer examination, he was startled to realize the whiteness was a door.

            He swallowed and halted before it. "Is this what you saw?" He asked.

            Tuvok's reply was quiet, "No."

            Nervous, Chakotay still waited. "Do we knock?"

            In answer, Tuvok reached out and grazed the door with his knuckles.  The door slid open silently, leading into an equally white, round, empty room.

            Empty except for Seven of Nine and Tom Paris.  They were silent, standing at opposite sides of the room, facing each other, staring.  Their eyes were vacant, as if they were merely shells and the living organism had left.

            Chakotay was never one to be speechless for long.  He took a tentative step toward Seven. "Seven?  Tom?"

            At the sound of his voice, the two turned as one to face them, their eyes still not focused.  Their mouths opened and Seven began, "Commander, how…"

            Tom finished, "…did you get here?"

            Feeling chills run down his spine, Chakotay stopped.  Tuvok almost ran into him, "Tuvok?" Chakotay murmured. "Were they like this before?"

            "No, Commander, they were not.  Evidently, the Doctor was correct in saying that their minds are merging," Tuvok answered.

            Chakotay had thought that the Borg with their millions upon millions with one mind was spooky but seeing two of his friends and fellow senior officers echoing all movements and thoughts was unsettling.

            "I walked," he finally answered Seven and Tom's question. "How…how are you feeling?" He was slightly at a loss on how to proceed.

            Seven and Tom paused.  When they spoke, it was mostly together, with only a small portion separated.

            "I don't really know.  I vaguely…"

            "…remember…"

            "…anything."

            "Commander, what is going on?  Why are…"

            "…we…"

            "…stuck here?"

            Chakotay looked to Tuvok, plainly signaling for him to answer.

            Tuvok cleared his throat. "We are not sure what is happening to you both.  The Captain and the crew are all researching ways in which to help you."

            Seven and Tom took a step forward.  Their voices rose in pitch. "Are we dead?"

            "No," Chakotay affirmed. "Just in stasis and constantly being monitored."

            Tom blinked and, for a moment, a light sparkled in his eyes.  Only his voice said, as only he collapsed in a dejected heap on the white floor, "I keep seeing memories…"

            Chakotay noticed Seven was paused, like an image waiting to be reactivated.  He rushed to Tom and knelt beside him. "Tom?"

            Tom looked at him, actually _looked _at him.  His blue eyes were full of tears. "What the Borg do…I keep seeing memories…"

            Tuvok, who had reacted much quicker than Chakotay and was supporting a shaky Tom, gave the Vulcan equivalent of comfort. "The memories are not yours, Mr. Paris.  Once you realize that, you will have a piece of mind."

            "'Piece of mind'?" Tom laughed, an odd barking sound.  He reached up to smooth his hair but stopped and watched his hands shake. "I'm losing my mind and quite literally, too.  I don't know I am anymore."   

            Chakotay felt fearful for his friend. "You are Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris, son of Admiral Paris of the Starfleet Federation of Planets.  You are an adventurer, an explorer, and a sure-shot, great pilot.  You were Marquis and now are a respected, although somewhat unorthodox, Starfleet officer.  And you are helping us to get home." He searched Tom's face to see if his words got through.

            To his grave disappointment, Tom just clutched his head and screamed.  The younger man's eyes began to fade as he chanted, "No!  Not again!  Notagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnot…"

            "…again!" Seven finished.

            Chakotay felt like hitting something in frustration.  He knew a visit to the holodeck would be in order once he was through here.

            A light hand on his shoulder startled him.  He saw Seven, this time fully in charge of her thoughts. "Commander, I have no control…"

            Tuvok stood, leaving the huddled, vulnerable form of Tom to Chakotay. "Seven, do you have any idea of what is going on?"

            Seven staggered but somehow remained herself. "It…is a parasite.  That is all I know.  None of those assimilated had this creature so the Doctor's assumption in that regard is false.  I…" She trailed off and her face turned blank.

            Tuvok grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. "Seven?  Seven!"

            Awareness returned, but only briefly.  She gave them one last message, "There isn't much time.  Tell the Captain to hurry…" She lapsed into silence and fell into an identical position as Tom when Tuvok released his hold on her.

            Chakotay balled his hands into fists as the room dimmed and fell away.  He remained in that stance even when Tuvok clasped his arm in sickbay over the two inert forms laying there.

            "There is little you can do for them, Commander," Tuvok said, seeming to read his thoughts. "Anger will only cloud your mind."

            Chakotay let out an angry breath. "You're right.  If the Captain needs me, I'll be in holodeck two." His thoughts raced frantically but he knew he needed to sort them out one at a time.  Only one thing that he knew of could effectively do that and that was where he was headed right now.

            Janeway entered holodeck two to discover, to her uncomplete surprise, her first officer punching away at a hanging punch bag.  She quietly walked around other immobile bags and caught the wildly swinging bag before it hit her.

            "Captain!" Chakotay stopped in surprise.  Sweat ran down his forehead and bare chest, dripping from his hair. "I'm sorry.  I didn't see you."

            Janeway smiled. "You've been in here for two hours, Chakotay.  I just wanted to see how you were doing."

            To her bewilderment, he grinned and plopped down on a bench, motioning for her to join him. "Actually, I have several theories dancing around in my head that I need to talk through."

            "Go ahead," she offered.

            He held up a finger. "One.  Seven mentioned, during her lucid moment, that the 'cancer' is a parasite.  I believe I now know why Seven and Tom's bodies are doing what they are and how…"

            At the briefing table, Chakotay looked clean and fresh.  Janeway herself had taken a couple of minutes to spruce up before gathering her senior officers.  She was giddy with excitement, knowing that Chakotay's earlier revelations held solid ground and were not only plausible, but completely correct.  She had cross-referenced the information in the databanks and found their answer.

            She smothered a smile and gazed sternly at her officers.  None of them looked like they were getting any sleep lately and she knew from asking the Doctor that all of them visited both Seven and Tom often.

            "Our enemy's name is the _cueproan_.  It is a parasite native to humid planets and can only be found in a host after digesting the source of nourishment it lives in.  It is more deadly than cancer for it feeds, not off the body, but off the mind," Janeway began.  She clasped her hands behind her back as she paused.

            The Doctor's voice interrupted from the comm as he plugged into the databanks. "It says here that the mind that the _cueproan_ feeds from expands into gradual nothingness, leaving the body alive but with no brain.  I wonder if that also means that if more than one mind is devoured, if the expansion overlaps, then the bodies of both hosts become similar?"

            Chakotay got a nod from Janeway.  After all, he had provided the solution. "Actually," he said. "That is precisely the case.  In the few cases known, the _cueproan_ is spread by open wounds and only through blood—sometimes effecting dozens of people at once."

            Janeway caught movement near the end of the table.  She raised an eyebrow. "Harry?  Do you have something?"

            Ensign Kim looked nervous. "I…ah…just wanted to know if the process has ever been reversed."

            Chakotay swallowed, keeping his face void of any emotion. "Not in the logs."

            "Are they stuck like that?" Torres said hotly.  She pounded her fist on the black tabletop. "Will they ever be separated?"

            Janeway felt ire growing beneath her excitement. "B'Elanna, I appreciate your concern but…"

            Over the comlink, in the background, Janeway could vaguely hear the sound of screaming.

            "Captain, I suggest you come to sickbay quickly.  And bring help," the Doctor's abbreviated explanation cut off.

            Janeway immediately took action. "Those who wish to, follow me," she barked, heading for sickbay at a dead run.  She didn't know exactly what was happening but a knot forming in her stomach told her that Seven and Tom had entered into the next stage of the _cueproan._

            When Janeway burst into the sickbay, the scene that greeted her was worse than she feared.  Seven, under the hold of the biobed, was emitting one long wail, crying and arching her back as if in great pain.

            But, surprisingly, that was not where the Doctor was.  He was frantically trying to restablilize a rapidly failing Tom Paris.  Alarms ringed as one after another of Tom's organs quit.

            "Tom!" B'Elanna shouted and ran to the Doctor's side.

            _She shouldn't be here to witness this_, Janeway thought as she herself raced to the Doctor.  He injected a hypospray into Tom as she approached.

            He glanced up, a stricken expression on his face. "Nothing is working.  Nothing has an effect.  I don't understand," he yelled over the sound of Seven's scream.

            Tom's eyelids flipped open and he focused on B'Elanna for a moment.  His lips moved and B'Elanna strained to hear, bending down.

            "Not…like…this…" Tom forced himself to say.  The Doctor, finally realizing there was nothing he could do, stopped his administrations to listen as well.

            "Don't…want…to go out…like…this…" Tom coughed. "Not…dead…" Then he slowly slumped onto the biobed, his body relaxing, his eyes vacant.  The alarms went silent.

            B'Elanna let out a Klingon lament that blended and merged with Seven's own cries.

            Janeway had never heard a more lonesome sound.


	5. Chapter 5

The bridge crew was silent, lost in their own thoughts.  Janeway took a quick analysis of each member of her crew present.  Chakotay was keeping his face totally devoid of emotion, a sure sign that he was in deep distress.  Tuvok was, as usual, impassive, though Janeway detected a hidden emotion in the way the Vulcan held his hands.  Harry Kim was staring at the bulkheads, not seeing his panel, looking at where Tom used to fly, his expression lost.  B'Elanna Torres was seated on a step that separated the upper and lower levels of the bridge, her face on that Janeway would tentatively identify as mourning, though angry.

            And as for herself?  Tom Paris _was _the best pilot she had ever seen; his brash comment five years ago proven time and again.  He had developed a long way from his penal colony days.  He had become as loyal as any Starfleet officer, as comical and more so than anyone she knew, and a sensitive heart that he had tried to hide but, ironically, B'Elanna had dragged out of him.

            How would the crew function without his sly mind?  His quick wit?  His ever ready quirk of a smile?  Tom had been the first one to accept the Harry Kim from the parallel dimension when he had joined them.

            She had a feeling that morale was going to be low for a little while.  She even knew that she herself was not excluded from that lack of morale.  It would be rather dull without Tom Paris.

            Kim finally broke the brooding silence. "I can't believe he's gone.  I keep expecting him to waltz in here, say something funny about being late, and plop down in his chair."

            "Face it, Harry," Torres' bitter voice came from under her hands. "He's gone." She growled softly.

            Chakotay suppressed his own anger only by sheer force of will. "Yes, and you don't have to be so harsh, B'Elanna.  Try to have some restraint."

            B'Elanna stood and headed for the doors to the lift.

            Janeway frowned. "B'Elanna, where are you going?"

            B'Elanna paused only long enough to throw her words over her shoulder. "I'm going to a holodeck where I can yell at people and rip them to shreds without getting my rank taken away for murder." And she was soon out the sliding doors.

            _I have to start some semblance of order here.  We need something to preoccupy our minds._

Janeway immediately thought of the proper solution. "Tuvok, backtrack over our records of…six months.  Cross examine any humid planetoid that Seven had joined the away team.  Once you have found that, chart a course, the _fastest _course, to it and come find me.  We'll research the _cueproan_ one ounce at a time if we have to.  Harry, assist Tuvok.  Chakotay, come with me.  First we have to round up B'Elanna—we need her quick mind—then we'll go have a chat with Neelix.  We have to get to the bottom of this before another of my crew dies.  I want some sort of headway in two hours.  Get busy."

            B'Elanna Torres shed her outer uniform jacket as she entered the smoky, hazy planet.  She tossed it carelessly on a large rock.  No one would interrupt her unless they dared the elements with her.

            "Computer, disengage safety protocols," B'Elanna growled, dropping into a flexible crouch, her fingers curled, her eyes scanning every nook and cranny as she moved deeper into Cardassian territory.

            "Safety protocols are off.  Warning: safety protocols are off," the Computer's voice said in its monotone.

            B'Elanna didn't bother to answer; she spotted her first enemy skulking behind a boulder group.  From experience she knew others would be behind her, trying to capture or kill her.  Most likely the latter.

            A multiple snare behind her warned her of her quarry.  She grabbed the hand that suddenly appeared over her shoulder and threw the Cardassian into a rock.

            As other Cardassians flowed toward her, maneuvering past her dead friends' bodies, memories rose unbiddingly from her mind.  She recalled the time when she first met Tom with the Marquis.  He was pompous, arrogant, conceited, and the most romantic man B'Elanna had ever met.  She had resisted then, and even when they were reunited with the _Voyager_ crew after being stuck in the Delta Quadrant.  She had not wanted anything to do with "the Heartbreaker".  But that had only interested him more.  He had shown up everywhere: at her quarters, in Engineering, in the galley when she ate—she couldn't be rid of him.  And there came a time when she didn't _want _to be rid of him, and so they shortly after became a couple.  He hadn't cared about her half-Klingon heritage—he had a hot enough temper of his own to match—and he hadn't let her blame her shortcomings on it, either.  He was responsible for her spiritual growth as she found him to be kind, understanding, sympathetic, and erratic with little gifts, a far cry from "the Heartbreaker" she had first known.

            With a cry, B'Elanna savagely attacked the group of Cardassians surrounding her.  They outnumbered her ten to one, but she didn't mind the odds.  She fought hand-to-hand, scoring hits and having hits scored.  Blood ran down her face from a lucky punch but her anger was up and she paid it no heed, flinging another Cardassian into the fray.

            And, suddenly, she wasn't the only one there.

            Chakotay's jacket was off as well and he was charging into the melee, not caring about the incredible odds.  His face was one of fury and he used one boxing skill after another.  He and B'Elanna fought off all twenty Cardassians until a pile lay at their feet.

            They were both breathing heavily as they walked back to gather their jackets near the lone door.

            Finally, B'Elanna couldn't stand the silence. "Where's the Captain?"

            "She's waiting outside," Chakotay replied, shrugging into his uniform jacket.

            B'Elanna quickly readjusted her hair, not sure what to say.  She started for the door when Chakotay's voice stopped her.

            "You can't change it and you can't take it back.  He knew you loved him.  Your argument was petty and he knew that.  Stop blaming yourself."

            B'Elanna stopped dead in her tracks.  Chakotay's uncanny ability to know her thoughts sometimes was unnerving.  She had once loved him…Shaking her head, she slowly turned around. "It doesn't make it any easier.  I keep hearing his voice.  His…last words…" Her voice caught on a sob.  Embarrassed, she spun away and strode toward the door again.

            B'Elanna faced Captain Janeway with a façade of calm. "Captain," she greeted.

            Janeway was not fooled. "If you are going to insist on using the holodeck with safety precautions offline, at least bring something to wipe the blood away with.  As it is, use this," Janeway said as she handed B'Elanna a clean cloth. "And come with us, please.  I have an idea."

            Janeway was immediately greeted by Neelix as soon as she stepped through the door, but she sensed an underlying note of sorrow in the short alien's joviality.

            She nodded casually, remembering how Neelix and Paris had fought over Kes, Neelix's intended, who had died before Seven had joined them.  Paris had eventually given up, seeing that Kes had eyes only for Neelix.  The voyage had been much smoother after that, although Janeway hadn't know that Neelix actually _liked _Paris.  They had fought all the time.

            Blinking back sudden tears of her own for the exasperating man—still putting off recording Paris' death in the captain's logs—she sniffed the air cautiously.  Neelix cooked all the time now and she had come to know his moods by what he cooked.  Today's lunch was Bangolian stew, a sure sign that Neelix was in mourning.  No one liked the stew but yet she noticed every crew member in sight eating the stew listlessly.  She would have bet that no one was even tasting it.

            Chakotay cleared his throat softly, reminding her of why they had come.  Disengaging herself from memory lane, she began her duty.

            "Neelix, I need to see your food storage.  I'm going to run some tests," she stated promptly.

            Neelix was his usual helpful self. "Sure, Captain.  But why?"

            "We have a theory about how the _cueproan_ got into Seven's brain," Chakotay finished.

            Torres just hung back behind them, watching and listening.  The reasons behind Janeway's and Chakotay's crazy ideas were better left unquestioned until they chose to explain them.

            But Neelix had a notion of his own, and it made him angry. "You don't think that _I_ poisoned Seven of Nine and Tom Paris, do you?" His beady eyes grew wide. "I assure you, I had nothing to do with that!"

            Janeway sought to smooth ruffled feathers. "We aren't accusing you, Neelix.  From our limited research, we've found that it's a parasite that lives off of brain energy.  We just want to know what it came aboard on.  It lives in a hosts' food until the host itself consumes it.  We want to scan the food resources to tell if any more are still uneaten."

             Neelix visibly relaxed at her words. "Oh.  In that case, let me turn this off and I'll take you to cargo bay four."

            Soon the quartet was standing in a room with rows of all sorts and variations of food.  The shelves were all stocked and the supply was plentiful.

            _We won't need to stop for food again for a least a couple of months_, Janeway thought happily.  _Think of all the traveling we can do…_

"Should I go or stay?" Neelix broke into her joyful train of thought. "The stew should be fine right now.  This will go quicker with four."

            Janeway allowed a small smile to cross her face. "Fine.  You and B'Elanna start on the far left side and Chakotay and I will begin on the far right.  We'll meet in the middle in…two hours.  That should be all the time this will take."

            She received nods of acquiesce from Chakotay and Neelix, but nothing except silence from B'Elanna.

            _Neelix'll draw her out.  If no one else since Tom…_ Her mind skitted away from the thought.  _Neelix'll draw her out._

            As if a miniature sun had settled itself over her eyes, bright light beckoned from behind her closed eyelids.  She did not want to emerge, as illogical as the thought seemed.  Yet a familiar voice called to her and, reluctantly, she complied.

            The Doctor's face swam before her view.  A headache began to throb in the back of her skull but she ignored it.

            "Doctor," she said, pausing at the sound of her scratchy voice.  She glanced down at the biobed's restraints around her, then looked back up at the Doctor. "I feel…lightheaded."

            The Doctor scanned her and, apparently satisfied, undid her restraints. "Nice to see you, Seven.  Or…is it Seven?" He raised an eyebrow.

            Not knowing, or remembering, what the Doctor was talking about, Seven stared at him. "Excuse me?" She asked, her head spinning.

            "Never mind," the Doctor assured her, a slightly worried frown crossing his face. "Tell me, Seven, do you recall anything of the past month?" He reached down and gently helped her sit up as she thought.

            "The last memory I can recall is eating in the galley.  Neelix and I talked and then I went to astromatrics.  I vaguely recall…Tom Paris…Naomi Wildman…and B'Elanna Torres talking above me.  Mr. Paris was injured, I could tell that from Miss Wildman's side of the discussion.  Why?  Is Mr. Paris hurt terribly?  Why am I here?"

            The Doctor hesitated. "Are you sure that is all you can remember?"

            Seven's brow furrowed.  A brief flash of memory that contained her facing Tom Paris in a white room.  Another of her knocking over a big, black mass that towered over her and Tom.  She shook her head, moaning, as her headache slammed into her in full force.

            "Seven?" The Doctor's voice interposed itself over the pounding in her head urgently. "Seven, I'm going to inject you with thirty ccs of monclanthim.  It should help your headache."

            A hiss of air and a briefly sharp needle pricked her neck.  A few moments later, the headache eased and her sight cleared.  She discovered that the Doctor had sat beside her, supporting her back.  She felt limp and clumsy.

            Her tongue rolled around in her mouth.  When it had lodged itself in its proper place again, she spoke. "I remembered a white room.  Tom Paris was standing across from me.  Then I saw a black mass that tried to consume Tom and myself.  There are no white rooms on _Voyager_.  Were we on a holodeck?  And what happened to the mass?"

            The Doctor sighed. "Tuvok and Chakotay can explain that better than I.  As for Tom Paris, I'm afraid I have some bad news." He caught her eyes and held them with his own. "I'm afraid Tom Paris died this morning.  His body is waiting for his ceremony in torpedo bay one.  He will be given to the stars later on today."

            Seven was stunned.  Tom Paris dead?

            _I am not.  I AM NOT!_

"I am not!" She yelled, suddenly frantic.  She grabbed the Doctor's shirtfront with both hands, searching his eyes for a sign that he was only joking. "Don't get rid of the body!  I'm not dead.  I'm _not dead_!" She started to cry, feeling the unfamiliar moisture run down her cheeks. "Please, don't get rid of my body.  I could never go back…"

            Her strength seemed to magically fade and she sank back down on the biobed, muttering the words 'not dead…I'm not dead' over and over until she passed out again.

            The Doctor just stared.

            Tuvok waited for Ensign Kim to run the last set of calculations again.  If they were right, then he and the ensign had discovered the planet that the _cueproan_ had originated from.

            Harry Kim shot him a wan smile. "It's the same." His voice carried weariness and joy. "It's the same.  Let's tell the Captain."

            Tuvok nodded. "Agreed.  She will be most anxious to hear of this." He reached for his commbadge…

            When a fearful, mental cry pierced through his brain.

            _I'm not dead.  Not dead!_

A mental image of Tom Paris, in a battered uniform, running along the inside of a cage, shouting, asserted itself before his vision.

            The puesdo-Paris banged on the bars of the cage in frustration.  _Not dead_! He yelled again.

            "Tuvok?  Lieutenant Tuvok?"

            Tuvok pressed the mental image down into the recesses of his mind to dampen the shouting.  When he was able, he focused on Ensign Kim.  The younger officer was gazing at him worriedly.

            "I am fine," he said to assure him.

            Kim looked doubtful. "Are you sure?  You kind of phased out there for a minute."

            "Fine," he repeated.  Following through on his original motion, he touched his commbadge. "Tuvok to Captain Janeway."

            The Captain was prompt in her answering. "Janeway here.  Go ahead, Tuvok.  Did you find something?"

            He glanced at Ensign Kim, who was once again going over their calculations. "Indeed we have, Captain."

            "That's fine, Tuvok," the Captain grunted, obviously splitting her attention between him and whatever it was she was currently doing. "I'll be in my ready room in about thirty minutes.  Meet me there."

            "Aye, Captain," Tuvok conceded. "Tuvok out."

            Shaking his head briefly to clear the lingering image, he made a mental note to check with the Doctor before he joined the Captain.

            "I will be there shortly," Tuvok said to Ensign Kim. "You may go ahead, if you wish."

            Kim seemed confused again. "Why?  Where are you going?"

            He did not have to tell the ensign yet something inside him answered, "To the Doctor.  I have something to discuss with him."

            Without another word, he walked off.

            The Doctor stood quietly, thinking.  What had Seven meant by "I'm not dead"?  It didn't make any sense.  She had almost sounded like someone else…but that couldn't be…But what if it was?  What had Tom's last words been?  Something like "not dead"?  What had he meant?

            The door opened and, his train of thought interrupted, he turned to greet the newcomer.  To his surprise, it was Tuvok.  And if he was getting used to the Vulcan's slight expressions, Tuvok was troubled.

            "Lieutenant Tuvok?  What can I do for you?" He asked.

            The Vulcan paused near Seven's once again prone form, only this time without any restraints.  Tuvok raised an eyebrow in silent question.

            "She was lucid for a few moments and has not displayed violence so far," the Doctor explained, omitting the part when Seven had grabbed him.

            Tuvok inquired no further, instead getting to the point of his visit. "I have…experienced an abnormality.  I request your expertise."

            The Doctor was perplexed.  A Vulcan asking a hologram for help?  This was strange indeed. "Go ahead, Tuvok.  I will do what I can."

            "Moments ago, on board the bridge, I…heard…a voice cry out.  Ensign Kim was with me, yet he heard nothing.  I…saw…a cage and Tom Paris was inside it, trying to free himself," here Tuvok paused.

            The Doctor was breathless, knowing that this was important. "And did he say anything?"

            Tuvok glanced at Seven again, then at the vacant biobed where Tom had died. "Yes.  He yelled that he was 'not dead' over and over again." Tuvok stopped again.

            The Doctor felt faint. "And do you have a theory, Tuvok?" He inquired, excitement building inside of him.

            Tuvok finally met his gaze. "That is correct."

            Janeway frowned, reclining in her chair. "It's not like him to be late," she murmured out loud.

            Chakotay still held the two bundles of a wheat-like food in his arms. "I agree.  Harry, do you know what this is about?"

            Kim was practically dancing in his agitation. "All I know is that he blanked out for a minute while we were finishing our double-checking and then he went to sickbay."

            Janeway landed her chair seat down with a thump. "Sickbay?  A Vulcan?  Voluntarily?"

            Kim nodded.

            Just then, Tuvok entered. "My apologies for being late, Captain," he said in way of greeting.

            Janeway stood, concerned. "Harry told me you went to sickbay.  Is everything all right?"

            Tuvok clasped his hands together in front of him, his rigid spine getting even stiffer. "I do not know yet.  The Doctor and I are still collaborating our efforts.  I will be able to tell you more later."

            Chakotay exchanged a glance with Janeway.  She sighed, knowing she could never force information out of a Vulcan.

            "Fine," she agreed. "Just as long as I am the first to know of any new information, good or bad." She shifted her attention to Kim. "Harry?  Will you please continue?"

            Kim nodded. "Lieutenant Tuvok and I believe that we have discovered which planet the _cueproan_ is from." He glanced at what Chakotay held. "And what we believe it came aboard on.  Which I see you found."

            Janeway nodded an affirmative, encouraging him on.  _When he's through, I'm going to talk with him about getting some sleep_, she decided.

            Wearily, Kim continued, "A class-M planet with unusual humidity we stopped at a month ago house a plant Neelix identified as _japreth_.  The _cueproan_ lives in the japreth plants.  I suggest that we get rid of every japreth plant on board.  Seven ate it—combined in a stew—just a few weeks ago.  She only took a bite—Neelix recorded it in his logs—and hated it.  He hasn't added any japreth plants to anything else since then.  Not yet, anyway."

            Chakotay asked, suspiciously, "This wouldn't be Neelix's _personal_ logs, now would it?"

            Kim averted his eyes and drew to attention.

            Tuvok decided to intervene. "It was to my orders, Commander.  I thought it best under the new knowledge of where the _cueproan _lived."

            Janeway frowned. "I'm not pleased that you did this without my consent or Neelix's, but I understand where you're coming from.  And I appreciate the information, no matter how unorthodox your method was.  Anything else?"   

            "We're on a direct course for the planet, at top Warp speed.  Ensign Peters is at the conn and is instructed to notify you if anything occurs," Kim said, relaxing slightly. "Like you instructed."

            Janeway suppressed a smile and nodded gravelly. "Harry, I want you and B'Elanna on the bridge.  Chakotay will join you after we dispose of the japreth plants.  After Chakotay gets there, go get some sleep.  That's an order.  Tuvok, continue whatever it is that you are doing with the Doctor but inform me immediately of any results.  And don't go into personal logs again, either of you, without my permission, understood?"

            Tuvok and Kim nodded slightly.

            Chakotay eyed her. "And where will you be?"

            Janeway sighed. "Visiting a friend."


	6. Chapter 6

Harry Kim sighed as he settled down to sleep.  He was extremely tired. "Lights off," he called thickly.  He thought he would be too tired to be kept awake by his imagination but he was wrong.

            Ever since he had been accepted as Harry Kim, he had almost forgotten that this _Voyager_ was not his _Voyager_.  Everyone had been so nice to him.  Dwelling on the past and all his dead friends was too hard and everyone had just drawn him in—because of Tom Paris.

            No one had known how to handle him at first but renegade Tom Paris had buttered him up and lifted his depression with little jokes.  Eventually came the questions of how close his universe was to the new _Voyager_.  Paris was Paris, different universe or not.  He hoped he was Kim, different universe or not.  The Doctor had done experiments and research and still Tom and Harry had been confused.  Tom…

            He thought losing Tom Paris of his universe had been bad but, somehow, losing the Tom Paris of this universe was even worse.  Perhaps because they had become closer friends.

            _I've got to stop it_, he scolded himself.  _The Captain had told me to get some sleep and that's what I'm going to do.  Thinking about Tom's death is only going to keep you awake.  Go to sleep._

Turning over onto his side so he could face the stars moving past him, he closed his eyes and relaxed.  His mind slowed and he slipped into sleep.

            Yet if he had wanted to get away from thoughts of Tom Paris, it wouldn't be in his dreams.

            He walked along a dark room's outer walls, feeling his way by fingertips.  A low moan sounded from ahead.  The sound of pure despair and hopelessness caused Harry to shiver.  Slowly, he continued forward, his curiosity aroused.

            A gray light urged him on.  And a familiar voice talking to itself.

            "Help.  Help me.  I'm not dead.  I'm not dead." The voice was weary and almost monotonous.

            Harry cleared his throat. "Tom?"

            Suddenly, the room brightened and he saw he was across from a cage.  Inside the cage lay Tom Paris.  His skin was ashen, his uniform torn, cuts and scrapes visible all over his body.  He almost looked washed out, faded.

            Tom lifted his head with obvious effort. "Harry?  That you?  Please say it's you."

            Harry frowned. "Can't you see me?" He walked closer, to right beside Tom, on the outside of the cage.  Tom concentrated on his voice and looked in his direction, not actually looking_ at _him.

            "No, Harry.  I can't see.  Not since I came here.  How did you get here, Harry?  No, never mind.  You have to leave.  It's growing stronger.  It can't feed off of Seven anymore; she's put up some kind of shield.  It's looking for another host while it slowly consumes me.  Harry, I'm not dead.  You can't get rid of my body.  If you do, I can never go back.  Please.  You've got to believe me." Tom leaned heavily on the bars of the cage, seeming dejected. "I'm not dead.  I'm here."

            Harry stood, finding himself shaking. "I'm dreaming.  This isn't real.  You're dead.  I've seen your body; I saw you die.  You're just an illusion of Tom Paris that my brain has conjured to torment me.  It's a dream."

            Tom grabbed at him, missing. "Harry!  No!  You've got to believe me!  Check my body!  What seems to be dead can be barely alive.  Please, Harry!  I'm asking you to do what I can't.  Go back and save my body.  No one believes me, except maybe Tuvok, and he thinks he's going insane.  Seven is too close' she acts what I say still.  I'm stuck in this hell and can't get out.  You've got to help me.  Just this once.  Please!"

            A low growl echoed to their hearing.

            Tom paled even further. "Go!  Awake before it sees you.  Get me out of here.  Go!"

            Harry, not knowing what _it_ was but certain that he didn't want to face it, turned and ran down the hall that materialized in front of him.  As he ran, he heard a faint cry of pain behind him.

            _Tom…_

            With a gasp, Harry sat up in bed, panting.  He felt as if he had been running all night long.  _Like in his dream…_

            _"What seems to be dead can be barely alive…"_

Harry shook his head, trying to shake the voice from his mind.  It couldn't be true.  He had no telekinesis that he knew of.  Tom's death must be affecting him more than he realized.

            _"I'm not dead!  Harry, you've got to believe me!"_

Shaking, Harry got up, tossed on his uniform jacket and left his room.  Something needed to be resolved in his mind.  With a swift stride, he headed for sickbay.

            B'Elanna Torres couldn't concentrate on her work.  Stuck up here on the bridge, doing easy work, mostly supervising Ensign Peters, B'Elanna thought she was going to fall asleep.

            Then, a familiar cube popped out of space in front of her and a billion voices overrode the ship's intercom.

            "We are the Borg.  Prepare to be assimilated.  Resistance is futile."

            Chakotay had leaped to his feet when he spotted the Cube.  He jabbed at his commbadge. "Captain to the bridge!"

            Janeway's voice was angry. "On my way.  Call all senior bridge officers to the bridge.  Go to red alert.  Janeway out."

            As soon as Janeway cut off, B'Elanna ignored the intercom message Chakotay was sending to the bridge crew while the lights dimmed to red and alarms droned, instead focused on feeding more power to warp speed.  Sweat began to bead on her brow when she saw that the Borg Cube followed closely.

            "Commander," Ensign Peters called. "Would you like to take the conn?"

            Chakotay paused, showing to B'Elanna that he had temporarily forgotten that Tom was not with them. "Yes," he finally replied, knowing he was a better pilot in situations like this than Peters.  They switched quickly and he concentrated on his flying.

            _Get to work, Torres_, she reminded herself.

            She would stay here until the rest of the bridge crew arrived, then try to go down to Engineering, where she was actually needed.

            _B'Elanna…_

            "You need something, Commander?" B'Elanna asked, looking up.  She saw Chakotay glance swiftly back towards her.

            "No," he grunted.

            Feeling silly, she studied the panel in front of her.  She must be hearing things.

            Just then, Captain Janeway hurried in.  Her eyes were red, as if she had been crying and B'Elanna suddenly understood where her captain had been.

            _With Tom's body._

"Status report?" Janeway barked, dropping into her command chair.  Harry Kim rushed in, with Neelix on his heels.

            _Harry still doesn't look like he's slept,_ B'Elanna observed.

            Tuvok entered, supporting a weak but completely aware Seven of Nine.  The Doctor was right behind them.  The threat of the Borg always brought all to the bridge.

            Janeway's expression was a mixture of surprise and anger when she saw Seven. "Seven!  I trust you have Doctor's orders?"

            Seven nodded.

            The Doctor took Tuvok's place with Seven on his shoulder so that Tuvok could go to his station.  He helped Seven come up to B'Elanna to take her place.

            B'Elanna heard, once again, a voice.  _Don't be mad at Seven, B'Elanna._

            B'Elanna blinked, moving backwards to clear the way for Seven.  The other woman was pale and sweating but obviously determined to stick through the latest attack by the Borg.

            Seven glanced at her. "Lieutenant Torres, I hope that you do not blame me for the death of Tom Paris…"

            B'Elanna shook her head, mutely.  Where had the voice come from?  Was she going insane?

            "Status!" Janeway ordered again.

            Tuvok replied in his same, steady way, "The Borg Cube is closing, Captain.  They will overtake us in approximately fifteen minutes."

            Janeway whirled to face him. "Fifteen minutes?"

            "Correct, Captain," Tuvok intoned.  A chime from his panel alerted him and Janeway. "They are firing."

            "Take us out of warp!  Brace for impact!" Janeway shouted, tightening her grip on her command chair.

            _Evasive maneuvers, Captain._

            Janeway stopped breathing for a second.  That voice…

            The projectile hit and _Voyager _rocked.

            "Evasive maneuvers, Chakotay," she said breathlessly.  She could hardly breathe.  That voice…

            Chakotay complied, rolling them away from the threat.  A planet suddenly filled the viewscreeen.

            "We have arrived at the class-M planet where the _cueproan_ dwells, Captain," Seven informed her.

            "Hide us," she answered, not really paying full attention.

            "Captain?"

            Janeway didn't answer Harry.  That voice had disturbed her so…

            "Captain?" Now it was Tuvok. "Are you all right?"

            Janeway nodded, and the spell broke.  She glanced at B'Elanna, who still hadn't left yet, and saw a flicker of understanding on the half-Klingon's face.  At least it wasn't only her who heard it.

            _Save me, Captain._

That voice again.

            "Tom…" She whispered.

            _I'm not dead.  You must believe me._

Suddenly, she snapped out of her daze. "Chakotay, hide us.  We have a lot more work to do and we'll have to do it right now."


	7. Chapter 7

It was too strange to be a coincidence.  Almost every close member of the crew to Tom Paris had heard his voice when asked.  And some had seen him in a dark cage, shivering and desperately crying out, "I'm not dead!"

            Too strange, in fact, for even a practical woman like Janeway to dismiss.  Tom's funeral was postponed and his body beamed back to sickbay.  A more direct searching probe of his brain would provide answers, Janeway was sure.

            And she was correct.

            "At first glance, there is no brain activity.  The body is not functioning.  But I ran a more extensive probe and found the barest of brain activity.  Logically, Tom Paris is dead; he died yesterday at 0700 hours.  But technically, he is alive.  I have Mr. Paris connected to the biobed.  What he is like now constitutes, loosely, into a coma.  What to do to get him out of it, I have no idea," the Doctor summarized in sickbay, hovering near the prone Paris.

            Janeway pursed her lips. "What about the _cueproan_?"

            The Doctor grew even graver. "The news there is odd.  I would like to examine Seven once more before I present my theory."

            Janeway nodded. "Do it.  Meanwhile, I'm going to go comfort Neelix.  He hasn't cooked anything since he found out something that he concocted caused this.  Contact me the moment you know anything." She strode out of sickbay and managed to catch the turbolift alone.  Once inside, she leaned her head against the padded walls.

            _Thank you, Captain._

            She jerked her head up.  There was Tom's voice again.  Was her imagination conjuring it, or something else?  Or was it really him?  The Doctor had said the only activity showing Tom was, in a sense, alive was that margin of brain activity.  Could the voice _be_ Tom?

            Her vision misted and she was suddenly thrust into a dark room.  Immediately, she concentrated on noises and sounds around her, crouching in a reflexive gesture.

            "Captain?  Is that you?"

            Janeway relaxed at Tom's actual voice, though only marginally. "Tom?  Where are we?"

            Abruptly, the room brightened and she could see an apparently washed out and huddled Tom Paris in a cage with no doors.  He was sorely abused, bruises and cuts visible through his torn uniform jacket and pants.

            She kept her eyes and mind alert for danger while she approached Tom.  He didn't even seem to see her.  Cautiously, she knelt on the outside of the cage, so close to Tom that she could see that he was indeed faded in color and outline.

            "Tom?" She prompted.

            He jumped, clearly not expecting her to be so close.  "Captain," he began.  His voice broke over unshed tears. "I can't see.  I don't know where I am, only that I can't get out and _it_ can get in." As he said 'it', he shivered.

            Janeway sensed that his reaction was important. "Tom," she said gently. "'It'?  What does 'it' do to you?"

            He grabbed the bars of the cage blindly and turned sightless blue eyes to rest near hers.  He took a deep breath. "It drains me.  But I'm not me, I'm in my mind—my 'self', I think.  I've had a lot of time to think lately.  It throws me around to get my adrenaline high, then it drains some of my energy.  It never takes all.  It allows me to gain some of it back, and then it does it again.  Captain, you've got to get me out of here."

            She held her breath for a moment, thinking. "We're working on that, Tom.  We've got your body in stasis, ready for when we can get you back.  Don't lose hope, Tom.  I think that might also be a big part of this."

            Tom nodded, his expression one of determination. "It took me so long to get you to hear me but I knew you'd have a plan of action, Captain.  I knew it."

            Janeway's curiosity was aroused. "Have you been speaking to B'Elanna, Tuvok, and Harry?  Why not Chakotay?"

            Tom adamantly shook his head. "No, not Chakotay.  It wants that.  It will transfer, somehow, to Chakotay's mind if I try to communicate with him.  It is becoming more powerful.  Hurry, Captain.  I don't think there's much time left."

            And then Janeway found herself standing in the turbolift, staring blankly at the open doors and the galley outside of it.  Her mind raced.  Neelix would have to wait.  She was needed in sickbay now.

            "Tom's alive and imprisoned in his mind?  We're not going crazy?" B'Elanna whispered, unbelieving.  She yearned to hear the Captain's next words.

            "That's right.  He's counting on us to help him and that's what we've got to do," Janeway said firmly.

            Tuvok frowned, just a little. "That would explain certain aspects of this situation.  Only, why can he not see?"

            "I believe Commander Chakotay and I can answer that," the Doctor intervened. "If you'll come over here?"

            Janeway, Torres, Tuvok, and Kim joined Chakotay and the Doctor at a monitor.  Seven was laying on the other biobed again to help show them something the Doctor had found.

            "This is a diagram of Seven's cancer as it was only twenty-four hours previous," the Doctor said, pointing at the huge two blobs of cancer in the diagram of Seven's right arm and brain.

            "And here it is as it looks now…"

            B'Elanna expected to see an all-consuming fiend.  The absence of either cancer blot astounded the gathered group.

            B'Elanna folded her arms. "So this means…?"

            Seven sat up, gingerly, and explained. "The _cueproan_ transferred completely from my brain to Tom Paris'.  The Doctor believes this was right before Mr. Paris' body almost ceased to function."

            Chakotay shot B'Elanna a warning look, which she ignored.  She was furious.

            "So what you mean to say is that, somehow, _your _brain resisted and Tom's didn't.  You killed him," B'Elanna said flatly.  She loved Tom more than she cared to admit and the ex-Borg's attitude was unnerving to her.

            Seven met her angry gaze, unafraid. "In a sense, correct."

            The Doctor hurriedly stepped in before B'Elanna could say anything more. "There's more.  I've listened to all of your stories of visiting a dark room with Mr. Paris in a cage and I believe I understand what it symbolizes." He paused, waiting to gain B'Elanna's complete attention.  Once she reluctantly turned away from an unwavering Seven of Nine, he continued, punching up the recent scan of Tom's body.  The twin black masses were festering and huge.

            "When Mr. Paris told the Captain that he couldn't risk communicating mentally with Commander Chakotay, I believe that what he was trying to say was that if the _cueproan_ sensed a certain type of mind, it would mentally transfer into the new host.  Now, I still have some theories but I'll let Captain Janeway go first."

            B'Elanna hid a snarl.  She wanted to do something to save Tom _now_.  Instead, she focused on the Captain.

            Janeway was standing near Tom's body, messing with the controls.  She finished, double-checked her handiwork, then stepped back to a safe distance.  She fiddled with another console and a force field went up around Tom's biobed.

            B'Elanna started forward, dropping her hands, about to protest, when Janeway began to explain what she was doing.

            "I have a theory of my own on how much oxygen Tom will need in order to come around.  I believe that if I increase the oxygen level slowly, Tom will be freed from his 'cage'.  The 'cage' he is in is asphyxiation; once his body stopped breathing, he couldn't go back.  Now, all we do is watch.  Except for the Doctor," she nodded at the Doctor and he was suddenly behind the force field beside Tom's body.

            The Doctor observed the biobed consoles as B'Elanna strode as far forward as she could eagerly.  After a few minutes, he nodded to the Captain and she fed more oxygen in.  Then more.  Then past what a normal human could stand, obviously answering the unspoken question of why they couldn't help inside the force field.

            B'Elanna crossed her arms again to keep from wringing her hands as she waited anxiously.  Everyone was silent, waiting, their eyes glued to Tom's body.

            Until Tom took a shuddering cough.  Just one, at first.  Then another, spaced out in a long heartbeat.  Then another, until he began to inhale normally.

            The Doctor waited a few moments more, then motioned for the Captain to slowly lower the oxygen to human levels.  Once the force field was down, B'Elanna was at Tom's side.

            "Talk to him, B'Elanna," Janeway urged.

            The Doctor agreed. "It might help bring him around quicker."

            Feeling all eyes on her, B'Elanna leaned over Tom.  His breaths were shallow and that worried her.  Was he truly back?  Was it best to bring him from his oblivion?  Oh, but she wanted to hear him argue with her!

            "Tom?" She began tentatively. "Tom, come on.  Follow my voice.  Tom, come back to me.  Come on.  Tom…" She trailed off as his eyelids flickered and quivered.

            Chakotay picked up where she had left off. "Tom?  Come on, Tom…"

            And suddenly everyone gathered there—even Seven and Tuvok—were urging Tom to open his eyes and regain consciousness.

            Tom opened his eyes with a suddenness that startled B'Elanna.  He gazed, unseeing, at the bulkheads.  Weakly, he moistened his very dry lips. "'Lanna?" He croaked.

            B'Elanna suppressed a shriek of joy and in its place smothered Tom's dry lips in a fiery kiss.  They only parted with Chakotay cleared his throat from behind them.

            Janeway was grinning. "Welcome back, Tom.  How does it feel?"

            Tom was silent a moment.  Then he said quietly, "I still can't see.  Why can I not see?"

            The Doctor poked at the console of the biobed some more before answering. "The _cueproan_ is so large in your brain that I'm afraid the pressure against your eyes, in a sense, shut them down."

            Seven of Nine approached the Doctor, making a wide berth around B'Elanna. "Do you mean to say he's blind?"

            Sadly, the Doctor nodded.  He turned to Tom. "Do you feel like sitting up, Mr. Paris?"

            Tom cracked a lopsided grin. "Would I ever!"

            Without another word, the metal wings of the biobed sank back down into the bed.  Tom wiggled his fingers and toes, not saying anything, but obviously happy.  At a nod from the Doctor, B'Elanna and Chakotay helped Tom to sit up.  His muscles were weak from lack of use so he leaned on B'Elanna for support.

            "Captain?" Tom asked, turning his head, not certain where the Captain was.

            "Right here, Tom," she answered, coming around in front of him so he could find her easier.

            Tom cleared his throat. "Thank you, Captain.  I…"

            Janeway placed her hand over his mouth, a surprisingly mother-like gesture. "It's nothing, Tom.  What wouldn't a captain do for her crew?  Especially one as unusual as you?" Janeway smiled, although Tom couldn't see it. "And life is too dull on this ship without you," she teased.

            Tom grinned. "Yeah, I guess so."

            "Mr. Paris," Tuvok said. "Let me be the first to tell you of our somewhat awkward plight." He raised a reproving eyebrow in the group's general direction. "We would love to stay and talk but the Borg have placed a time limit on how long we can stay in hiding."

            Tom sucked in a breath. "The Borg?"

            Seven nodded, forgetting for a moment that Tom was blind. "Correct.  We are in orbit around an M-class planet…"

            "…the same planet that houses the _cueproan_, the parasite inside of you," Chakotay jumped in.  And suddenly everyone was filling Tom in on what had transpired since he was unconscious.

            B'Elanna herself grew confused as to what had happened after a moment, and she had been on the bridge. "Enough!" She and Captain Janeway chorused.  They glanced at each other in surprise.  B'Elanna held Tom's hand and let the Captain finish the tale.  When the captain was through, Harry walked up to Tom.

            "Hey, Tom, sorry I didn't get the hint earlier.  I was going to follow through on your directions but that's when the Borg decided to pop in," he apologized.

            Tom chuckled. "That's okay.  I just kept thinking of people to try until one of them understood and talked with me.  I'm still not sure how I did what I did."

            "Do not underestimate the powers of your mind, Lieutenant Paris," Tuvok intoned solemnly.

            Before Tom could answer, his stomach growled.  He laughed. "Is it safe to eat, Doc?  I'm starved."

            The Doctor smiled in return. "As well you should be.  You've been a complete cycle without food.  I'll have Neelix bring you up some tomato soup, if you like."

            Tom nodded eagerly. "Oh yeah!"

            "And we, people," Janeway interrupted the conversations that had started up around Tom, "need to come up with a plan of action.  The Borg are still out there.  They'll find us soon.  We need to have something to throw back at them.  Let's let Tom get fed and rested, then we can drop in on him later and say our hellos."

            Chakotay echoed her, "Let's get to work."


	8. Chapter 8

The next two days were fruitless in a reason of action.  The crew could only fight or run or both.  But _Voyager_ was still being repaired from her last battle with an unfriendly Delta Quadrant people.

            A plan began to form in Tom's mind.  He could not do anything like pilot _Voyager_ but he did have a way to get rid of the Borg without exploding them in a thousand pieces.  B'Elanna would not like it and the Captain probably wouldn't agree to it but it really was the only way.

            His acuter hearing picked up the sound of the sickbay doors opening and a sure stride approach where he sat perched on a biobed.

            "Hello?" He asked.  The darkness that constantly enveloped him allowed no knowledge to come to him from his eyes.  He had to rely on his hearing and trust it heavily.

            "Mr. Paris," Seven's cool voice came to his ears. "I wish to ask you a question.  If you have the time."

            Tom thought her words ironic. "If I didn't know you better, Seven, I'd say that was a joke.  What do you need?  Time is all that I have lately."

            Silence.  So the mighty ex-Borg was unsure of how to phrase her question.  This should be interesting.

            Hesitantly, Seven finally continued, "Since it is my fault that you are…ill, do you harbor ill feelings towards me?"

            Tom thought for a moment.  Never too long, or a headache from the _cueproan_ would start.  It wasn't really Seven's fault.  And even if it were, he probably wouldn't tell her that.  Since clashing with the three ex-Borg from her original Uni-Matrix, she had focused even more on her individuality and development of feelings.  He wouldn't want to damage her progress.

            "Seven," he began gently. "What happened was not your fault.  It was beyond all of our control.  And I have no malice towards you."

            He heard her sigh, an almost audible thing that perhaps only he could hear now. "I thank you, Mr. Paris." He detected retreating footsteps.

            "Seven!" He called.

            She stopped and came back only a little bit.

            "We need to talk of what you remember," Tom ventured, not sure how she would take his probing.  He remembered all of it: the shared thoughts, shared memories, shared dreams.  It had been a oneness that he would probably never experience again.

            Seven's reply was hard. "I do not remember anything."

            Tom sensed that she wasn't telling the truth. "You lie," he accused. "Tell the truth.  What do you remember?  Think hard, Seven."

            A pause.  She was silent for so long, he was afraid that she had somehow tip-toed out.

            But she answered finally. "I remember your trial, when you were sent to the penal colony.  Your feelings of disappointment.  Your father's expression.  Almost as if I _were_ you.

            "I remember the first impressions you had as you learned to survive at the prison complex.  You resolved to not make another mistake—which is illogical.  You save another prisoner from death and had nightmares about the accident which you could not remember the next morning.

            "I remember when you met Captain Janeway.  You wanted to impress her, to show her you deserved another chance although you also had a conflicting emotion of loathing at the Starfleet that she represented.

            "I experienced the journey to the Delta Quadrant: the pain, the death, the feeling of frustration and helplessness as the Captain ignored you.

            "The gradual building of your self-confidence in yourself; I was there.  When you began to court Lieutenant Torres, I was there.  I remember all you do and have done, and I can not shake the memories.  Have I answered your question?" Seven finished.

            Tom was shocked.  He hadn't realized that she had seen so much of him. "Yes," he said quietly.

            She was quiet again but did not leave.  Perhaps she could understand his feelings now; perhaps not.  He was doomed to die, either by the _cueproan_ or by the Borg.  All he had wanted was to know that some of him wouldn't die.  Through Seven, he knew he wouldn't.

            "Lieutenant Paris?"

            Surprised that she was still there and willing to talk, he only said, "Yes?"

            "What do you remember of my memories?"

            Tom was caught off-guard.  What _did_ he remember?

            Slowly, he talked it out.  "I remember being young.  I…you…were with your parents aboard an explorer's ship.  The Borg came at night.  They took your parents and assimilated you into Alpha-Matrix.  The sounds, the voices, the shared knowledge of over billions of species—it was disconcerting at first.  The loss of humanity.  The loss of individuality.  The species you forced to be assimilated, thinking it was right.  The fear of being alone," his voice caught and he buried his face in his hands.

            A hand rested on his shoulder lightly.  He didn't know who it was.  Seven?  The Doctor?  Someone else?  Who?

            Seven's voice, right beside him, attempted to comfort him. "I adapted; so can you.  The memories do not bother me as much as they used to.  Do not let them bother you."

            Tom controlled himself. "Thank you," he whispered, lowering his hands.  He suddenly wanted to discuss what he was going to approach to the Captain with someone else who now knew him far better than even B'Elanna.

            "Seven, I think I have a solution to this Borg problem," he said eagerly.

            Her tone was inquisitive. "Explain." Her hand removed itself from his back.

            Tom sighed. "If I can get the _cueproan_ to transfer to the Borg, I can eliminate two problems at once."

            "And how do you propose to do that?" Came a different voice from the direction of the door.

            "Captain!" Tom hadn't heard her come in.  He hated this blindness!

            "So go on, Tom.  I'm listening," the Captain's tone was amused.

            "I am curious myself on how you think to solve this stalemate," Seven added.

            Sighing, Tom decided to finish.  Might as well. "Well, if I can connect mentally to one receptive mind in the Borg Cube, the _cueproan_ will transfer, the _cueproan_ will leave me, I won't die, and it will spread into the Cube.  The Borg will be so busy fighting the _cueproan_, we'll just slip away."

            Janeway's voice was slightly weaker as she turned away to confer with the Doctor. "What do you think?  Is it too risky?  Will it endanger Tom?"

            The Doctor didn't immediately reply, a sure sign he was thinking the matter through.  Finally, Tom heard, "There's so much that I don't know about the _cueproan_.  We were able to bring Mr. Paris back once, I really don't know if I'll be able to do it again."

            "So what do you suggest?" Janeway inquired.

            "Wait.  Let's investigate the planet some before we try anything too risky," the Doctor finalized.

            Tom felt his hopes vaporize. "But what if we don't _have_ the time to explore the planet?"

            Janeway's voice was firm. "You let me worry about that."

            As soon as Janeway, Tuvok, Kim, and Torres disappeared from the transporter beam on their way to the planet, Chakotay faced Seven.  His eyes probed hers. "Why did Captain Janeway leave now?  What transpired in the last few hours?"

            Seven shifted slightly. "New information from Lieutenant Paris prompted the early investigation.  The Doctor and Captain Janeway thought it best to travel and search for answers as soon as possible since the appearance of the Borg Cube."

            "What 'new information' did Tom give?" Chakotay prodded.

            "If you really want to know, _sir_, you'll have to join me for supper," a tired voice said from behind them.

            Seven and Chakotay swiveled to face an exhausted Tom Paris, who was feeling his way down the corridors by his fingertips.

            "What are you doing up?" Chakotay demanded.

            "The Doctor said to minimize movement to minimize the _cueproan_," Seven added, a note of reproach in her voice.

            Tom exhaled angrily. "I'm bored.  I wanted to actually eat with the sounds of people around me.  If I'm going to die, at least I should be allowed company."

            "You're not going to die," Chakotay said, exasperated, as he gently grasped Tom's elbow and directed him slowly out of the door.

            Seven could not let the untruthful statement rest. "The Doctor said he was not certain that Lieutenant Paris would survive," she countered, following them to a turbolift.

            Chakotay shot her a look, which she interpreted as him being displeased with her, although she could not understand why.  Humans needed to be confronted with the truth, not disillusional thinking.            

            Once the turbolift started moving, Paris let out a funny sound and reached out for something to hold to.  Chakotay fought a smile and let Paris grab his uniform jacket.  When they had stopped, Paris let out an audible sigh of relief.  He let Chakotay guide him by his elbow to the galley.

            They entered, and the conversations lulled as the crew took in Chakotay obviously steering Paris on where to go.

            Neelix was speechless.  A first for the little alien, Seven was sure.  He recovered quickly and hurried over.

            "Tom!  Nice to see you out and about!  What do you want to eat?  Here, I'll get a table for all of you.  Commander Chakotay, be careful with Tom over here; there's a step down," the robust alien rambled.  He noticed how pale Tom was and the beads of perspiration on Tom's forehead that had formed from his short walk.

            "All I want is a good big bowl of that tomato soup you've gotten so good at making," Tom suggested, sitting down with a sigh.

            Neelix's countenance fell. "Are you sure?  I mean, I could replicate you a good soup."

            Tom firmly shook his head. "I've been eating replicated meals for almost three days.  All I want is your tomato soup."

            Neelix brightened. "Well, then, I guess I'll get right on that.  Anyone else have a request?"

            Seven remembered some of the etiquette lessons the Doctor had given her.  It was considered not only polite to dine with a guest of honor—as Tom obviously was to Neelix—but to also have the same thing that they were eating.              

            "I'll have tomato soup as well," Seven replied.

            Chakotay nodded. "Myself as well."

            Neelix bumbled off happily to get started on the soup.

            Chakotay gave Tom a long look while the conversations surrounding them began again.  After a lull in _their_ conversation, he said, "I believe you've given Neelix his courage to cook back.  I was starting to get tired of replicated foods."

            Tom shrugged in a rare gesture of modesty and embarrassment. "No one else could do it.  Besides, what are we going to complain about if he doesn't cook?"

            Chakotay laughed, although Seven failed to see the humor in the particular joke.

            "Scan for lifeforms.  We had found some but they never approached us the first time here," Janeway instructed.

            Tuvok, Kim, and Torres held scanners in one hand and phasers in another.  They faced different directions and Tuvok spoke first.

            "Captain, I have massive lifeform readings in this direction," the Vulcan informed her.

            "Good.  Let's see if the natives can tell us anything," she answered.  Carefully, she led the away team through dense underbrush and luscious trees.  Insects, several times bigger than Earth's, buzzed close to them but never landed on any of them.

            As they drew closer to where the readings of life were, they heard chanting.  Cautiously, they peeked out of the bushes to see three-foot-tall, naked, round humanoids dancing around a fire while other short aliens wearing a type of loose, long robe sang, tilting their faces to the stars.

            "Captain," Torres whispered. "Why did we not see them the first time here?"

            Harry answered for Janeway. "Whole civilizations can be separated from each other on one continent.  It's not that hard to hide yourself from strangers who don't know what to look for or even the terrain."

            Torres glared at Kim, but it didn't have much malice behind it. "Alright, Starfleet," she growled, mock-seriously.

            "Look who's talking," Kim shot back, smiling.

            "Captain?" Tuvok brought Janeway's attention back to the present. "It seems we have been detected."

            Janeway was filled with alarm as she gazed at one old female alien who was beckoning for them to come to her.

            "Follow me," Janeway whispered as she stood up.

            When the other aliens caught sight of her height, some ran in fear.

            "Jittery, aren't they?" Kim commented.

            The older alien pointed at Kim. "You!  Man!  Silence!  Let your Leader speak before you!  Have you no honor?"

            Janeway inwardly groaned.  This matriarchal society was either going to help or hinder.  She stepped forward to find out.

            "He speaks under my direction," she told the female alien. "Greetings.  I am Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Starfleet Federation Starship _Voyager_.  I came to ask questions of you."

            The older female nodded wisely, ignoring the other three members of the away team. "'Captain'?  Is this a title of honor among your people?"

            Janeway inclined her head. "Yes, it is."

            The female seemed delighted. "Are you in charge of many?"

            Janeway was puzzled at first by this line of questioning.  Abruptly, she realized that the alien was trying to decide whether or not Janeway was an equal to her.  She nodded. "Yes, many.  I guide them home."

            The alien clapped her hands, grinning, and two young male aliens brought two robes.  One positioned one of the cloak-like robes on Janeway's shoulders, decorated with furs and precious stones.  The other placed a less ornate cloak on Torres' shoulders.  Bowing, the two backed away in submission.

            "Let us eat first," the leader of the little village demanded.

            Not seeing a diplomatic way to refuse and still be able to inquire after the _cueproan_, Janeway agreed.  She had only a little trouble convincing the aliens that Tuvok and Harry Kim ate _with _her, not after her table scraps.

            "So my runaway patient has returned.  I'm glad to see that, although you are still unhealthily pale, you've gained a small amount of color in your cheeks," the Doctor said convivially as Chakotay and Seven assisted Tom into sickbay.

            "Neelix's cooking will do that to you," Tom grunted.  Chakotay could tell that Tom was in pain.  The _cueproan_ didn't give up it's hosts easily.

            Chakotay let Seven deal with getting Tom onto the biobed as he confronted the Doctor. "Is it safe to let him sleep?" He whispered. "Won't the _cueproan_ try to take over again?"

            The Doctor nodded. "I don't allow him to sleep for long.  I'm monitoring his brain waves thoroughly.  If even a sign of something appears, I wake him."

            "He does need sleep," Chakotay warned.

            The Doctor agreed. "Oh, I know.  I let him sleep for as long as the _cueproan_ leaves him be.  That's all I can do.  I don't want to have to go through all that suffering again to bring him back.  It was hard enough the first time; I'm certain the _cueproan_ wouldn't let it happen again."

            Seven joined them. "Lieutenant Paris is asleep.  If you wish, Doctor, I could monitor him so you can concentrate on some of your research," she offered.

            The Doctor gazed at her a moment, and Chakotay could tell that if holograms could love, this one would be there.

            "Thank you, Seven," the Doctor replied. "You know what to watch for?"

            Seven nodded.

            The Doctor turned his attention to Chakotay again. "If you'll excuse me, Commander, I'm running data on something Mr. Paris offered in way of a solution to our Borg problem."

            Chakotay smiled and left the room, remembering Tom's explanation over dinner.  He would contact Kathryn soon to check on her progress.  But not yet.  Something told him not yet.

            Kathryn Janeway sat warming herself by the blazing fire, feeling herself taken back to campfires with her ex-fiancé, Mark.

            With a furious shake of her head, she focused on the major-domo, K'pthna, Leader and Prophetess of the Shak'matha people.  Evidently, the alien had 'seen' the away team's coming.

            "And your questions, Captain Kathryn Jan'way," K'pthna finally got to.  "One is dying in your machine-for-home?  You want to know about the _cueproan_?  To beat it?"

            Janeway nodded once. "Yes, if it's not too much trouble," she said calmly.

            K'pthna slowly lowered her hands, the Shak'mathan gesture equivalent to a negative head shake from humans. "Our people have no way to fight and win, though the Great Goddess of Light promised to send one, a male, that would find a way." The stubby alien leaned forward intently. "Tell me, Captain Kathryn Jan'way, Leader of the People in the Machine-for-Home, is the dying one male?"

            Torres crawled to sit beside Janeway, squeezing past male bodyguards of K'pthna's. "Captain," the half-human warned. "We don't know these people.  What if they want to hurt Tom?"

            Janeway glanced at K'pthna. "We have to trust a little to gain a lot, B'Elanna.  I don't see how it could hurt and we might gain information we don't already know about the _cueproan_."

            Torres, clearly not satisfied, sat on her haunches, her eyes glittering strangely in the firelight.

            Janeway smiled at K'pthna. "Yes, he is male."

            A stirring in the gathered Shak'mathans surprised Janeway and the away team.

            K'pthna muttered to a young boy and he scampered off.  She then faced Janeway. "Before more can be said, I must see him.  Bring him here."

            Janeway felt Torres tugging urgently on her cloak.  Stunned, she said, "I must speak with my crew and the male first.  I will come back."

            K'pthan bounced up and down in her eagerness. "Yes!  Yes!  Come back!  Bring the male!"

            Janeway tapped her commbadge. "_Voyager_, four to beam up."

            "I'm not sure of this," Chakotay said uneasily.

            Torres was adamant. "No.  It's too much of a risk for Tom."

            Tuvok said simply, "The decision is yours to make.  Yours and Lieutenant Paris'."

            Neelix and the Doctor were unusually quiet, both gazing at the slumbering patient.

            Janeway noticed Seven looked at her steadily, a sure sign that the ex-Borg wanted to speak to her alone.  Janeway disentangled herself from the arguing group to stand beside a slightly distanced Seven.

            "Captain," Seven began without preamble. "If Lieutenant Paris does go, I would like to go as well."

            Janeway was caught unaware by her request. "May I inquire as to why?"

            Seven clasped her hands behind her back. "The lieutenant and I…shared things that no one would understand during our linked time with the _cueproan_."

            Janeway found herself curious. "Shared things?  What kind of 'things'?"

            Seven was looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Memories; thoughts; emotions.  It occurred when the _cueproan_ melded our minds."

            Satisfied, Janeway could see no reason why the ex-Borg should not go. "Permission granted.  Only, I will be there as well." She cleared her throat to get the gathered throng's attention.

            "Seven and I will accompany Tom down to the planet," Janeway said firmly.  Her tone spoke of no argument.

            B'Elanna growled. "I don't think this is wise, Captain.  We can't even predict when Tom's condition will turn for the worse!" But the argument was half-felt—B'Elanna knew the Captain had won the round.

            Janeway decided to ignore B'Elanna's outburst. "Doctor, let's wake Tom and tell him what we need of him."

            The Doctor nodded and gently shook Tom.  Tom lifted his head weakly. "Mr. Paris, there is something the Captain needs you for."

            Groggily, Tom sat up, holding his head. "Captain?" His head swiveled around, his ears alert for her voice.

            "Tom, the inhabitants of the planet below us have offered a trade: they get to meet you in exchange for information on the _cueproan_.  Are you well enough to go if Seven and I assist you?" Janeway asked gently.  She held her breath until he answered her.

            "Don't see why not," he answered gruffly. "Take in some sights before I go."

            Chakotay frowned at Tom's ironic words but refrained from saying anything.  Janeway was startled herself but chose not to show it.  Instead, she turned to Seven. "All right, then.  Let's go."

            "Energize," Captain Janeway ordered.  Almost immediately, Seven of Nine felt the tingling through her body that signified the transporter beam was reorganizing her atoms and molecules on the planet's surface.  When her eyes had readjusted, Seven glimpsed Lieutenant Paris tottering on his feet weakly.  Knowing he was about to fall, Seven lent him her shoulder to lean on; he took it gratefully.

            A very short alien scampered to Captain Janeway.  The alien bowed and the Captain returned the gesture as Lieutenant Paris and Seven were surrounded by other, shorter, aliens similar to the first.

            "Greetings once ag'in, Captain Kathryn Jan'way," the first alien snorted out.  The female wore a cloak like the one Captain Janeway wore, but more elaborate with pieces of precious stones.

            The Captain smiled. "Greetings in return, K'pthna, Leader of the Shak'mathans.  I have brought the one you requested, in return for what information you have on the _cueproan_.  I give him full leave to speak and he will not stay long.  He is weak and sick.  When I think he needs to leave, he will go."

            The alien, K'pthna, inclined her head. "Then we will be brief." She motioned for Seven to approach with Lieutenant Paris.  Slowly, assisting Paris, Seven complied.

            "Here, he will sit here comfortably.  You can leave him," K'pthna dismissed her.

            Seven sat the sweating lieutenant down on a pile of furs by the fire and, in defiance, sat beside him. "I am sorry," she said clearly. "But I go where he goes.  We are…bonded by the _cueproan_, or were, until I was released.  We share…"

            K'pthna interrupted, her voice in awe. "You share the _monglatha_, the oneness of thoughts and dreams.  And yet you are alive as well?"

            Seven merely stared.  Any being with half of an intelligent brain could see that she was breathing and had heart and mental activity, constituting that she was alive.

            The Captain smirked, the expression crossing her face briefly, then it was gone. "Barely alive, K'pthna," Janeway answered for Seven. "As is Tom."

            "Tom?" K'pthna repeated, clearly confused.

            Janeway frowned. "Yes.  The male's name is Tom Paris."

            K'pthna sounded astonished. "You name your males?!"

            Seven considered practicing the technique the Doctor had showed her that was called 'rolling the eyes'.  It was used in situations such as this.  Inwardly, she shook her head.  No, this was not the time nor the place for such an action.

            The captain gave a slight smile. "They name themselves, or rather, their parents name them; same as our females."

            "Parents?"

            Seven decided to end this discussion; the lieutenant was obviously worsening.  He shook constantly and clung to her in fear of the unfamiliar noises around him.  He was paler than usual and clammy.

            She faced K'pthna. "It is an Earth custom.  Now, I implore you finish your questioning: the lieutenant and I must return shortly."

            K'pthna was silent a moment, as if completely shocked by Seven's audacity in speaking to her in such a manner. "Very well then," the short alien finally said.  She motioned to two males of her species. "Food first, then discussions."

            "No…" Tom gasped. "Just…ask me what you will and be done with it."

            Captain Janeway knelt in front of him and pulled out a medical tricorder.  Frowning, she scanned him quickly. "His brain activity is speeding up.  The _cueproan_ is awake." She spun to face K'pthna. "If you wish to gain nay coherent information, do it soon.  He has to return in less than ten minutes.  He needs immediate attention."

            K'pthna bared her teeth but refrained from speaking her initial thoughts.

            "You, male, how do you survive?" The alien leader barked sharply.

            Tom's voice was weak. "It…doesn't want to kill me.  It's…looking…for another…host."

            K'pthna was confused by his words. "Another host?"

            Seven tried to explain since talking was obviously making Tom weaker. "A host is a person occupied by the _cueproan_.  The parasite is draining Lieutenant Paris' energy and mental aspects.  We believe that the _cueproan_ is in search of a different host to do the same with since Lieutenant Paris' body is becoming too weak.  Or it will kill him first, then have a host ready nearby.  We are not anxious to determine which."

            The alien was silent a moment, thinking. "Why is he not dead?" She repeated. "Our afflicted are buried."

            Captain Janeway interposed. "We believed Tom was dead, too, at some point.  Only through adding unhealthy amounts of oxygen to the room he lay in brought him out of his mind and back to his surroundings, though he is now blind."

            K'pthna was clearly overwhelmed. "You are goddesses!  You can manipulate the very air you breathe in order to save another of lesser status.  The Shak'mathans are honored." And the shaky alien began to bow at Captain Janeway's feet.

            Seven saw her captain was very embarrassed.

            "Stop this at once," the captain protested. "We are no better than you."

            Instead of stopping, all aliens copied their leader.  Some of them brushed Seven's shoulder, making her uncomfortable.

            "Captain," she called.  Once she gained the captain's attention, she did not let her gaze waver. "I believe we should leave.  It is apparent that these aliens cannot add to what we know already through their inferior technology.  Plus," she glanced down at an excessively sweating, half-unconscious Paris. "Lieutenant Paris's time here is at an end."

            _And perhaps anywhere else as well_, Seven thought, an emotion called sadness washing over her.

            Apparently, the captain thought along the same lines as Seven for her mouth and eyes were grim.  She tapped her commbadge, the cloak rustling with her movements. "_Voyager_, three to beam up."


	9. Chapter 9

"Captain, I'm afraid Mr. Paris is worse," the Doctor began fretfully. "The _cueproan_ has evidently decided to kill him."

            "It has," Janeway confirmed.  Tom had visited her in her dreams last night, telling her of it.  As soon as she, Seven, and Tom had rematerialized onboard _Voyager_ yesternight, Tom had lapsed into unconsciousness. "Has he been aware any since we arrived?"

            Sadly, the Doctor shook his head. "The only thing I can do is what I already have done.  And it no longer makes much of a difference."

            Janeway gazed at Tom's body, breathing shallowly, lost in thoughts.

            The door behind her opened and B'Elanna ran in.  Janeway saw grease on her hands and briefly remembered B'Elanna had been in the holodecks again.

            "B'Elanna!  No!" The Doctor intercepted the bee-lining Torres and kept her from Tom right before she would have crashed into the force field that was up again.

            B'Elanna struggled. "You can't keep me from him!"

            "B'Elanna!  Listen to me!" The Doctor pleaded. "Mr. Paris is in a coma.  The only thing keeping him stable is the high amount of oxygen contained in there.  If you go in there, you'll die."

            B'Elanna clenched her fists as tears welled, unshed, in her eyes.  She paced away from the Doctor, growling under her breath. "Why?" She said at last. "Why now?"

            Janeway folded her arms across her chest. "The _cueproan_ wants to kill him."

            Just then, Tom twitched and moaned.

            "And he's not entirely in a coma," she added.

            "I want to do something," B'Elanna, frustrated, echoed Janeway's current thoughts.  Janeway felt pity for her.  The amount of suffering and hopelessness contained in B'Elanna's voice spoke volumes of the love she felt and tired to hide for Tom.

            Janeway rested a hand on Torres' shoulder. "So do we all.  Right now, we just need…"

            Suddenly, _Voyager_ rocked and an explosion sounded.  Janeway felt herself stumbling but the Doctor caught her.  She reached for her commbadge but Chakotay's voice beat her hand to it.

            "Captain to the bridge!"

            "Damage report," she snapped out, striding to the door.  B'Elanna followed.

            "Decks five and fourteen have minimal damage and there's a hull breach in Deck Eleven," Harry's occupied voice shot out.

            Chakotay said, "Brace for impact!", as Janeway and B'Elanna entered the turbolift.

            "Bridge," Janeway told the computer, holding onto the walls.  Another explosion sounded, but farther away.

            "That one grazed shuttlebay," Harry reported.

            Abruptly, the turbolift stopped and the doors opened onto a mass of activity on the bridge.

            Janeway covered the distance to her command chair in a matter of seconds. "Status," she barked, sitting down, facing the viewscreen. 

            Chakotay, seated in the pilot's chair at the conn, raised an eyebrow as Tuvok replied, "We're being attacked.  The Borg have found us."

            "On screen," Janeway demanded, a sinking feeling in her stomach starting.

            The curtain of white before her became the image of the Borg Cube.  And they were getting ready to fire again.

            "All hands to battle stations," she called into the ship's comm.  Turning her head slightly, she told Tuvok, "Hit 'em with everything we've got."

            Seven of Nine stood at her station on the bridge obeying the Captain's commands.  She felt fear and did not like the feeling.

            _Seven…_

            For a moment she thought the Borg had beckoned to her, then she realized that it was only one voice, not billions.

            _Seven, I can save _Voyager_.  I know how to pass on the _cueproan_ but I'll need your help._

            Knowing who it was, she tried an experiment to talk back in her mind by thinking. _ You are weak and under consciousness.  What can you do?      _

            Lieutenant Paris sounded delighted that she conversed with him but also resolved.  _I have been on a deeper level with the _cueproan_.  I know how it works now.  I know how to free myself but…_ He stopped.

            Seven readjusted something on her panel, not really paying attention to what she was doing.  _But what, Lieutenant?_

The ensign sighed.  _If we don't complete the plan right away, I'll be dead before I can try again._

Seven straightened and her fingers dropped from the console.  _It will kill you._

_            Yes,_ was the answer.

            She thought a moment.  Evidently, the lieutenant believed she had forgotten him because he inquired.  _Seven?  Don't leave me._

_            I am thinking.  Do not be impatient,_ she told him.  She paused a moment more, bracing herself as _Voyager_ rocked again.  _I cannot desert the Captain at the moment.  There is too much to do._

_            Seven!  Please!  I need your help!_

A light touch on her arm startled her.  She glanced up to see Lieutenant Tuvok at her side.  Quietly, he said, "Inform Mr. Paris that you will be there shortly.  I will locate a suitable relief place to land _Voyager_." Then the Vulcan returned to his post.

            _Lieutenant Paris, I will be there shortly._

_            Thank you, Seven.  Please hurry._

_            I will do my best, Lieutenant._  She focused on her console again as Tuvok said, "I have located a nebula only five parsecs from here, Captain."

            Janeway, hair half-covering her face, nodded and called to Chakotay, "Go for it, Commander.  It'll give us a chance to get lost and safe for repairs.  At least for a couple of hours."

            Chakotay immediately turned _Voyager_ around. "Acknowledged, Captain."

            The nebula shone with swirled pinks and blues.  It grew larger as _Voyager _approached.  Seven decided that it would be the best suitable place for the amount of time they needed. "Captain, the nebula houses a packet of dense molecules.  While it might be slightly unstable, the Borg Cube can not follow there."

            Janeway narrowed her eyes. "Is that they only choice we have?"

            Tuvok answered. "It appears so.  I concur with Seven: it is the safest place."

            Their captain gave a brief nod. "Carefully, Chakotay.  We do have a hull breach to think of."

            "B'Elanna's down there, supervising the repairs," Ensign Kim informed them.  Only then did Seven notice that Lieutenant Torres was missing.

            _Seven…_

"Captain," Seven said abruptly. "There is a matter that I need to take care of in sickbay."

            Janeway stood and walked carefully up to the upper level where Seven was stationed.  Seven noticed a cut on the captain's forehead that her hair had hid earlier. "I believe I'll join you." She glanced back at Chakotay. "Unless I'm still needed here?"

            Chakotay released the controls. "No, Captain.  We are snug in the nebula and the Borg Cube is on the outside."

            Seven came to a quick conclusion.  _Should I invite the rest?_

Lieutenant Paris sighed.  _Why not?  They're going to want to have their say anyway.  Let's get it all over with at once._

Out loud, Seven said, "The matter requires all of our attention.  Please come to sickbay."

            Chakotay frowned. "Seven?"

            Firmly, Seven added, "More information will be given there."

            "Very well then," Janeway answered smoothly, her tone curious. "Harry, Tuvok, Chakotay; care to join us?"

            The captain of the starship, _Voyager_, watched in unchecked awe as Seven lowered the oxygen level, lifted the force field, and merely touched Tom's hand, although briefly, to rouse him from his near coma.

            The Doctor scanned Tom. "Mr. Paris, I believe I finally have a time limit on your lifespan with the _cueproan_ thought through," he said sadly. "I'm afraid it's only a matter of hours, if that."

            B'Elanna clenched her fists.  She had met them outside the sickbay's door, saying that she had heard Tom calling to her.

            Tom nodded, sitting up cautiously. "I know.  That's why I wanted to talk to you all."

            Janeway believed that his voice sounded stronger than it had been and more determined.  _He has a plan._  "Go ahead, Tom.  Tell us."

            Tom cleared his throat self-consciously. "This last time…with the _cueproan_, I mean, I understood.  I know what to do.  I have to search out a host and _touch_ them, willing the _cueproan_ to leave so I must be conscious…meaning, if the Doc is correct, I have to do this now."

            B'Elanna narrowed her eyes. "Do what now?"

            Tom took a deep breath, whether to give him courage or to refill his lungs, Janeway wasn't sure. "I need to go to the Borg Cube."

            "What?!" B'Elanna screeched.

            Chakotay merely nodded. "I see where you're going with this," he said simply.

            Harry just blanched.

            Tuvok gave a little frown that spoke volumes. "This is not logical, even for you, Mr. Paris.  Explain your reasoning."

            Tom sagged a little on the bed. "With all those Borg, if I can find one—just one—mind that the _cueproan_ agrees to, touch it, then that solves two problems: my death and the Borg."

            Silent, Janeway now sat beside him, careful not to touch him in fear that the _cueproan_ would want _her_ mind. "Tom," she said gently and softly, almost motherly. "I've heard this from you before.  You know I can't let you do that unless I believe it absolutely necessary.  You only have a few hours left.  Don't you want to spend it with the people that love and admire you?"

            Tom fixed his sightless blue eyes to her. "Captain, if you had a choice to die, which would you do?  Go out surrounded by people you love and admire, knowing the Borg will continue to hunt them down to give them a fate worse than death after you're gone?  Or go out fighting to save those you love, even though it's in theory and might not work?  Which would you do, Captain?" He asked softly.

            Janeway honestly thought about it, as a _human being_, and not as a captain.  If given the choice, for human and captain, it would be—and had been, in her past—go out fighting to save those she loved, even if in theory.

            "All right, Tom," she agreed finally. "But I want you to walk around the ship first.  B'Elanna will accompany you, if you wish.  _Someone_ will go with you.  Then come to the bridge.  We'll go from there."

            Tom nodded. "Agreed, Captain."

            Janeway hopped down from the biobed. "Everyone except B'Elanna leave.  We'll pay our respects and farewell wishes later on the bridge."

            B'Elanna felt helpless, not a feeling she had had since her childhood.  The Doctor had said Tom was dying.  The man she had grown to love only had a few hours left to live, and only some of those were to be spent with her.

            He was going to do what he had always wanted to do: save the world.  Since the world that he lived on was currently _Voyager_: he was going to save it.

            She cupped his face in her hands, daring the _cueproan_ to invade her mind. "Captain Proton," she whispered tenderly. "Must you go?"

            A slow smile caressed his expression. "Dearest lady of my heart, I fear 'tis necessary to save you." Changing his voice, he said seriously, "I have to try.  Have Harry watch you when I'm…"

            "Don't say it.  I don't want you to talk like that; not yet," B'Elanna pleaded. "Let's go visit Neelix in the galley.  Do you want some tomato soup?"

            Tom grinned. "Yeah, that would be nice."

            Chakotay couldn't find Kathryn.  She had left sickbay before them all and she wasn't on the bridge, which was surprising.

            Suddenly, it dawned on him where she was.

            He strode to her ready room quietly, not wanting the others to follow.  He entered and saw Kathryn sitting on the cushions, staring out at the nebula.

            "Kathryn?" He called softly, coming up behind her, sensing she was deep in thought.

            Her eyes were focused beyond the nebula, her chin propped in her hands.  Without moving she replied, "What do you suppose he's thinking?  That he has to do it?  Why not, he's going to die anyway?  Does he feel loyalty to the crew?  Or is it a typical macho gesture?  Is he trying to prove something to his father and the rest of Starfleet, even in his dying?  What's going through his mind?"

            Chakotay sat beside her but did not look directly at her.  Instead, he gazed at the dance swirling in the nebula.  After a while, he answered.  "I believe what's happening to Tom has changed him from completely reckless to more slightly controlled.  He's had much time to ponder on his behavior in the past and he might want to change it.  Maybe you're right and he's doing it as a last chance to prove to his father, the Marquis, you and the universe that he can do something _right_, instead of something _wrong_."

            Kathryn sat back on the seats and looked at him.  She smiled wryly. "When I first met him at the penal colony, I couldn't help myself from detesting him.  He was a picture of everything that could go wrong with a Starfleet officer.  But now…I see what a fine officer he truly is when he gives himself the chance.  Yes, he's unorthodox—so am I—but that just adds to his flare for life.  I don't know how we're going to function without him."

            Chakotay returned the smile. "When I came aboard and saw him six years ago, I believed him a traitor.  He sought to assure me he wasn't.  He succeeded mostly when he saved my life twice.  His cocky attitude and jokes grated on my nerves, until I realized he was lonely.  The accident he had caused to kill his friends had left a black mark on his soul that he continuously punished himself for but also tried to cover up with sneering in the face of authority.  Since he has come to grips with the accident, he's still cocky but not in an annoying way.  I guess he just grows on you."

            "Just ask B'Elanna," Kathryn joked.

            Chakotay smiled. "Let's make sure he knows he's not alone and we back him in this."

            Kathryn gave him a sideways glance. "And we expect him to return."

            Chakotay raised an eyebrow in question.

            "By sending another crewmember with him," she proceeded to explain. "We'll be unconsciously telling him we expect both the crewmember and him back to _Voyager_."

            "And I'm guessing you already have this 'crewmember' in mind?" He asked.

            Kathryn grinned, looking twenty years younger. "I do indeed."

            "This is great, Neelix.  You made it," Tom said.  The tomato soup had tasted just like his mother had used to make—thick and tomatoey, with a hint of cloves.

            Neelix's tone was pleased. "I did.  Spent all week finding the correct ingredients and replicating what I couldn't find."

            Tom let himself smile and divulged a secret. "Tastes like my mother's."

            Neelix fairly bubbled with pleasure. "Thank you, Tom.  Is there anything else I can get you?"

            "Seven tells me you make a mean chocolate cake…" He suggested.

            "Right away," Neelix said as his footsteps dwindled in the direction of the replicator.

            "Tom," B'Elanna began softly, grabbing his hand.  He knew it was her hand because it was hard with just the right texture of softness. "I thought you didn't much care for chocolate."

            He shrugged. "I don't.  But why not?  I'll indulge myself.  Maybe it'll taste sweeter."

            B'Elanna was quiet, which he didn't want.  When there was no familiar sound of voices, the _cueproan_ howled for his attention.

            "Talk to me," he begged abruptly. "Anything.  Let me hear you speak, B'Elanna."

            She sounded unsure at first, then grew bolder. "I'm proud of you, Tom.  Sometimes I know it doesn't seem like I am, but I am.  What we have is a gem, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the universe.  I'll…I'll miss you, Thomas Eugene Paris.  Come back to us…to me."

            A dull thump sounded from in front of him. "Here you go: chocolate cake," Neelix presented.

            Subdued, Tom let B'Elanna guide his hand to the fork and then to the plate.

            Naomi Wildman was hungry.  Uncle Neelix would fix her some food before they went to the holodeck to finalize the Flutter chapter _Dark Moon_.

            When she walked into the galley, she was surprised to see Mr. Tom sitting and talking with Ms. B'Elanna and Uncle Neelix.  She had heard that Mr. Tom was so sick he had almost died.  Did this mean he was okay again?

            "Ah, Naomi," Uncle Neelix beckoned her over. "We were just talking about you."

            "What a beautiful little girl you've become," Tom added, although his eyes did not look at her.

            She moved closer to Uncle Neelix, afraid.  What was wrong with Mr. Tom's eyes?

            B'Elanna, when she saw the way Naomi was staring at Tom, tapped her shoulder gently.

            "His sickness made him blind," B'Elanna whispered.

            Tom smiled. "I heard that."

            B'Elanna straightened. "Never tell secrets in front of Tom anymore.  He can hear a phaser drop a parsec away."

            Neelix laughed so Naomi smiled. 

            "Naomi," Tom hesitated. "Can you come here?"

            Naomi walked over to Mr. Tom, shocked to see tears in his eyes.  He rested a hand briefly on her head.

            "Be good, Naomi," Tom whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "Don't let Seven boss you around too much."

            "I won't," Naomi promised, sensing it was important to Mr. Tom.

            "Tom," B'Elanna said reluctantly. "It's time to go to the bridge.  Is there anywhere else you wanted to go?  Your quarters?  Shuttlebay?"

            Tom shook his head as he stood shakily. "No.  The bridge is the place I want to go.  The _Delta Flyer_ is best left alone.  B'Elanna, take care of her while I'm gone?"

            "She won't get a scratch, Tom," B'Elanna assured him as they walked slowly out of the galley.

            As soon as the door closed, Naomi rounded on her godfather. "He's dying, isn't he?"

            Neelix frowned, then sighed. "Yes, Naomi, he is.  But he's going to save us from the Borg Cube out there."

            "How?" Naomi asked.

            "Well, it goes something like this…"

            Seven of Nine gathered in the bridge with the rest of the crew, they dressed—with the exception of Lieutenant Torres and Lieutenant Paris—in full dress uniform.  An air of expectation awaited as Lieutenant Paris slowly walked around the bridge.  He walked alone, trailing his fingers on panels and walls.  Once he made his way to the pilot's console, he collapsed in the chair, sweating profusely.

            Commander Chakotay knelt by his side and inquired as to the lieutenant's health.

            "I'm fine," Tom wheezed. "Just a little…overwhelmed." He waved a hand and repeated, "I'm fine."

            Satisfied, Chakotay joined Captain Janeway in front of her command chair, waiting the lieutenant out.

            Paris just sat there for a while, gently running his fingers over the controls, facing the viewscreen yet not able to see anything there.  Finally, he straightened and stood.

            "Tom," Janeway called out.  Seven recognized her tactic to help Tom orient on the sound of her voice to face her direction. "We all have something to say to you.  Harry, you may go first."

            Ensign Kim tentatively adjusted his long dress uniform jacket. "Tom," he began, self-consciously. "I just wanted you to know that I appreciate you accepting me.  You made me feel at home here.  Thanks."

            Lieutenant Paris had a twinkle in his eye that signified trouble for someone, most likely himself. "Harry, watch B'Elanna for me.  She can't take care of herself so you'll have to keep her from driving mindless pain into her life."

            Seven gauged Lieutenant Torres' reaction as not boding well for Lieutenant Paris if they were ever left alone again before he departed.

            The captain gestured for Lieutenant Torres to go next.  What the lieutenant said in Paris' ear was not audible, even for Seven's acute hearing, but Ensign Kim snickered as Paris flushed red.  Smiling to herself, B'Elanna stepped away.

            Lieutenant Tuvok approached the lieutenant.  He splayed his fingers, even though Paris could not see. "Live long," Tuvok intoned. "And prosper."

            Paris visibly restrained himself from doing something jovial and bowed his head gravely. "Thank you, Tuvok." Then, to everyone's complete surprise, Paris positioned his fingers in an identical salute. "Live long, and prosper."

            As Tuvok turned away, Seven noticed a slight wetness in the Vulcan's eyes, but she might have imagined it in the lighting.

            The captain gestured to Seven.

            Seven clasped her hands behind her back. "I confess I am at a loss of what to say.  You know me more completely than I do myself.  I wish you success in your mission.  I only wish that I could accompany you to guide you.  Be careful." So said, she stepped away beside Lieutenant Tuvok.

            "Commander?" Captain Janeway inquired.

            Commander Chakotay did not move from his place. "Tom, you are a worthy Marquis.  I only wish I knew why you did what you did while you were with us.  As it is, I give you my best wishes of luck.  Knowing you, you'll need it.  Captain?"

            Captain Janeway braced her feet. "Tom, I expect you back.  This little exercise was just to let you know that we're all behind you.  And you're not going alone.  You'll need a guide who knows the Borg and can be your eyes and ears for you." She paused. "Seven of Nine will accompany you.  You have two hours, at the very most, to live.  Thirty minutes before that time is through, you two will be beamed aboard _Voyager_, mission completed or not.  If Seven believes either one of you to be in danger, she is to immediately request an emergency transport.  Understood?"

            "Aye, Captain," Seven and Tom chorused.

            "Good.  The Doctor wants both of you in sickbay, then I'll be personally seeing you two off in Transporter Room One.  You have thirty minutes.  Go."


	10. Chapter 10

Armed with a phaser rifle, a medical tricorder, and a regular issue tricorder, Seven of Nine assisted Lieutenant Paris onto the transporter pad.  She faced him in the correct position as Captain Janeway took the controls to the transporter beam.

            "We _will_ return, Captain," Seven sought to reassure her.

            The captain smiled and nodded. "I expect no less.  Seven, take care of Mr. Paris.  Mr. Paris, good luck."

            Seven took a deep breath, pushing memories from her past into the back of her mind. "Energize."

            The ship faded out of view as a dark, greenish corridor of a Borg Cube replaced it.  Seven repressed a shudder and more memories as she focused her mind on her and Lieutenant Paris' task.

            The lieutenant gasped and staggered beside her, directly in front of a passing Borg.  Seven let her reactions take over and grabbed him just in time to avoid a startled confrontation.

            The lieutenant slid to the metal-plated floor, his breathing laborious.  His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he did not appear coherent.  Quickly, Seven unhooked the medical tricorder and scanned him.  The _cueproan_ was very much active.

            "Lieutenant Paris, respond," she demanded, reattaching the tricorder to her belt.  She glanced up and down the corridor; as long as they did not pose a threat they were safe.  Still, Seven wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. "Lieutenant, comply!"

            At last she saw a flicker of life behind his eyes.  So softly she almost couldn't hear, he said, "Seven, do me a favor, will you?  If I die here, I don't want the last familiar voice I hear to be calling me by rank.  Please call me 'Tom'.  It means a lot to me."

            Seven thought about his request and decided there would be no harm in it. "Very well then, Tom.  Shall we begin our mission?"

            He sighed. "Yes."

            Helping him to his feet, Seven wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him steady.  They walked quickly to another area, and another.  The _cueproan_ was becoming a picky feeder and Seven was beginning to believe that it's host wouldn't make it much farther.

            When they had begun down the fifth string of alcoves, Tom raised his head, a glean of sweat running down his face and neck. 

            "Stop," he said with great difficulty.  His breathing was shallow and his skin even more pale.  He pointed a hand that shook at a regenerating Borg two alcoves away. "Him."

            Seven cautiously approached the Borg, and felt shock to discover it was a member of Species 3501.  She had not known of many of that species that could survive the life of a Borg drone.  They did not adapt well.  The Borg had not assimilated that species in over twenty years.  Yet here one was.

            "This Borg?" She double-checked with Tom, to make certain.  When he didn't answer, she adjusted his weight to the front of her body so she could see him better.  What she saw was that Tom was once again fighting slipping into unconsciousness.

            "Tom," she used his name to draw his attention. "Awake!  Comply!" She began to panic. "Tom, comply!"

            With dubious effort, Tom rolled his head around to signify he could hear her.

            "Tom, I have located the Borg.  What can I do to assist you?" Seven offered.

            "My hand…" He said weakly. "The face…"

            Understanding, knowing that Tom's time was running out, Seven lifted Tom's right hand and pressed it to the Borg's face.  She knew what would happen when any touch of a Borg resulted.

            Almost immediately, the Borg's eyes snapped open.  He didn't move right away.  Instead, he gazed at Seven.

            "State your designation," he ordered in the voice of a Borg.

            "Seven of Nine," she answered automatically.

            His one eye swiveled to observe Tom's hand pressed against his chin. "Explain, Seven of Nine."

            Her hatred of what the Borg had done to her and her parents lent an ironic twing to the situation.  With a perverse satisfaction, Seven said, "We are transferring a deadly parasite into your brain.  If all goes well, the entire Collective will be affected and dead within forty-eight hours."

            The Borg drone stepped out from his alcove. "We cannot allow that."

            And several other Borg drones surrounded Seven and Tom.

            Tom, gasping, managed to choke out, "It's done", before slithering to the metal plates, either unconscious or in a coma, Seven was not sure and did not now have the time to verify.  She would later.

            Tapping her commbadge, Seven ordered, "_Voyager_, emergency transport." She knelt over Tom as the broken up reply came.

            "Seven…no lock…stand by…compensating."

            Tensely, Seven realized that the Borg were trying to gather Tom.  Knowing they'd assimilate him, Seven prepared to fight.

            One drone, the one Tom had transplanted the parasite into, struck at her head.  Recognizing the tactic, she blocked his arm, caught it at the elbow, and flipped him over her shoulder into three other drones behind her.

            "Captain!" She tried again. "Haste is required!"

            "Just a…Seven…"

            Another drone, female and impassive, charged her.  Seven kicked at the drone's legs as still another grabbed her from behind.  She struggled to free herself, not wanting to join the Collective again.

            At her feet, three drones lifted and began to carry off the inert Tom.

            Something inside of her, whether from repressed memories or just simply knowledge of what was to happen to Tom, snapped.  Screaming, she bit and scratched at any Borg that came near her, besides the one holding her.

            "Seven!  …going on?  Respond!"

            "Help me!" Seven yelled.  Tom's captors disappeared around the alcoves. "Help Tom!  Somebody help us!"

            The female drone she had kicked at appeared before her. "Cease your useless emotions," she said coldly.

            "Captain!  Captain!" Seven shouted.

            The drone punched her and Seven sagged, half-senseless.  The drone holding her released her just briefly to jab a neutralizer into her neck.           

            "No…" She whimpered as her body lost its functions to move.  She hoped she would lose consciousness as the Borg drones picked her up.

            When the tingling began, she thought either she was imagining it or her body was waking up.  Finally, she recognized it for what it was: the transporter beam.  She allowed herself to relax, and only then lost consciousness.

            Captain Janeway felt panic when, over the static-filled commbadge, Seven began to scream.

            Urgently, Janeway demanded, "Seven!  What's going on?  Respond!  Seven, respond!"

            "Help me!  Help Tom!  …help us!" Was her only reply.

            Janeway frantically readjusted the transporter beam.  There was some kind of interference trying to block Seven and Tom's signatures.  Blowing out through her mouth, she refocused on Seven first.  She reconfigured the transporter beam—

            Panicked, Seven yelled, "Captain!  Captain!"

            —and gave it tight parameters to Seven's commbadge.

            "No…" A moan of hopelessness floated over the link.

            "Gottcha," Janeway muttered as the faded blue outline of Seven slowly materialized on the transporter dais.  The woman was unconscious.

            "Now, Tom…" She said, to help orient herself.

            Doing the same tightly controlled beaming for Tom, his inert form joined Seven's shortly on the pad.  Leaving the controls, she raced to Seven and Tom's side.

             "Seven…"

            Seven forced her eyes to open.  She fully expected to see Tom Paris, Borg drone, standing over her.  The Doctor was a pleasant surprise.

            "Doctor?" She asked, sitting up.  She glanced quickly around and found she was in sickbay.  Tom was on the biobed again, constantly monitored. "Is he…dead?"

            The hologram shook his head. "No.  The captain managed to get him back just in the nick of time." He ran a medical tricorder over her. "How are you feeling?"

            "Grateful," she replied, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, feeling the last little bit of numbness going away.

            "Really?" The Doctor inquired, putting the tricorder down and assisting her to her feet. "How so?"

            She looked him straight in the eye. "I am not Borg again, and neither is Tom…Lieutenant Paris." She reflected that the lieutenant's request did not apply anymore since he was near others on the ship again. "When is the lieutenant capable of duty?"

            The Doctor sighed. "It really depends on how long it takes Mr. Paris to regain his strength."

            "Then I take it his theory was correct?  Once the _cueproan_ vacated his mind, he will survive?" Seven had to know.

            "Yes," the Doctor smiled. "It was too peaceful here without his sarcasm.  It's good to know he'll be rejoining us in the land of the living."

            Satisfied, Seven clasped her hands behind her back. "Am I allowed to return to astromatrics?"

            Still smiling, the Doctor said, "You are.  But I believe Miss Wildman wanted to see you.  Something about Flutter and plotting a course to a planet.  If she's not in astromatrics, then Neelix will know where she is."

            Seven nodded once. "Thank you, Doctor." She turned to leave.

            "It's my job," he remarked.

            Right when the doors closed, she failed to hear him say, "She called him 'Tom'", in a perplexed voice.  Her mind was already on Naomi Wildman.


	11. Epilogue

_Captain's log, Stardate 6.103958._

_            Although Tom Paris has not yet regained consciousness, the Doctor is optimistic.  After three days of monitoring, Tom's brain has shown incredible improvement.  His lungs are stable, his heart beat is normal.  Now all we anxiously await for in the nebula pocket is when he'll become aware.  It's been too quiet around here._

Janeway rested her head against her high-backed chair in her ready room as she blanked the screen on her personal datalogs.  It was day four of Tom's continuous improvements and the waiting was dragging on her nerves.  Was Tom ever going to waken?

            Chakotay strode into her room, breaking her thoughts. "Captain, I can't seem to locate B'Elanna."

            Janeway frowned. "Is she not in sickbay?"

            "No, Captain.  No one has seen her for an hour…" He broke off as Janeway's commbadge chirped.

            "Captain," the Doctor said anxiously. "I can't seem to locate a runaway patient.  All I found when I came back from helping Seven in astromatrics were two commbadges."

            Chakotay met Janeway's knowing eye.

            Laughing, she told the Doctor, "Don't worry about it, Doctor.  I believe I know where both Tom and B'Elanna are.  Just inform him—no, them both—to come to the bridge, when they return.  Janeway out."

            Chakotay had a sly grin on his face. "Well, at least we know his strength is definitely returned."

            Tom Paris entered the bridge to find everyone staring at him and B'Elanna.  He had awakened an hour or so ago to find that he could see again.  Only one thought had crossed his mind.

            When he and B'Elanna had returned to sickbay, they had found the Doctor waiting for them.  The Doc had handed them their commbadges and steered them to the bridge.

            "Captain wants to see you," was all the hologram would say.

            "Nice to have you back, Tom," Chakotay said now, relinquishing the pilot's controls.  The commander sat in his own seat.

            Captain Janeway barely glanced their way. "Now that you two are back from your rendezvous," she commented dryly. "Let's see if your other theory worked, Mr. Paris."

            When he had taken his place, he sighed in contentment. "Where to, Captain?" Lovingly he stroked the console.

            Even without turning around, he could hear the smile in the captain's voice. "Home, Lieutenant."

            "Aye, aye, Captain," he joked.

            Behind him, in Harry's direction, he heard a quickly suppressed snicker.

            Raising an eyebrow, cruising past a dormant Borg Cube that seemed to just drift in space near the nebula, he remarked, "So, did anyone miss me?"

            "No," the bridge crew chorused.

            Turning slightly around, Tom faked a sniffle. "I'm hurt."

            "You'll live, Mr. Paris," the captain replied. "Chart us home."

_The End_  (written several years ago during the sixth season of Star Trek: Voyager right after Tom Paris received his rank of lieutenant back)


End file.
